The BLOOD Saga: NIGHT (2016 Reboot) - Volume 2: Sins of the Flesh
by Dion Mystique
Summary: Reboot of 2011 Series: The church is on notice: Infinity plots to liquidate their finances. Meanwhile, Stuart and Dawnavan undergo EX-training at the Mullen Institute under Dr. Lyte. Unfortunately, their friends are in danger: Dead Motion, headhunters employed by White Album, are on their tail. The primary target… Dr. Stephen Farrelly. (Large cast; written in LVN format.)
1. A Special Moment With: Mycenae & Intro

****L**** ** **egend****

*word* = denotes emphasis/prominence on a word

 **Bold** = denotes existential occurrences

 _ **Bold-Italics**_ \- denotes extrasensory communication

 **Bold-Underline** = denotes keyword/important name/location

(Parenthesis) = denotes foreign language being spoken

 _Italics_ = denotes character thoughts

* * *

 **:O:**

 **:O:** **A** **S** **pecial** **M** **oment** **W** **ith…** **:O:**

 **:O:**

—What's up, cats and kitties? Guess who's back…

…Yep! It's Prince Mycenae; formerly known as Back Door Man. Groovy, baby!

Sorry for the wait, but we're back and just as solid cool as ever.

You'll notice a few minor changes, but everything else is pretty much the same. For references on how to read the story, please, check the legend at any time.

Man…this announcement thing sure is a drag.

Hey, creator, could you spice it up a bit? The vibe is all *wrong*—can't have the readers going to sleep, ya know.

…Oh right, I almost forgot. I'm *his* recreation, so he calls all the shots… Well, that's lame. I've got some pretty groovy ideas, too: Action, drama, suspense, cool cats, sexy kitties, and… Oh, wait. That has the potential to happen.

I had better behave though. Since I'll only be involved in a subplot this this time around, I want to avoid upsetting the creator. He might have me killed off… Geez, creator. You don't have to be such a square.

—Alright, better start the announcements:

The second of April is World Autism Awareness Day: An internationally recognized day encouraging Member States of the United Nations to take measures to raise awareness about children with autism around the world.

Since its inception, autism awareness and research around the world has boomed as a result. World Autism Day is also one of only four official health-specific UN Days. The day itself unites individual autism organizations from around the globe to aid in research, diagnosis, treatment, and overall awareness for those with the disorder and looking for assistance.

Ooh, talk about a nice thing to do, huh. Caring for those in need is a great service, so I say "groovy" to that, baby!

Take it from your cat Prince Mycenae: Peace, love and freedom for all; that includes the misfortunate. It's best to share, right. So, if you're reading this before or after the observance, still take time out to show your support. It's for a good cause, and cats like me are a-l-l about love. You should be too, baby.

Hey, creator. Nice one! Solid cool, I love it!

My creator and his team aims to touch people with this fanfic, so expect more good vibes like this in future Moments. Phew! All I need is some *music*—this got a cat wanting to groove, baby. Oh, yea!

Mu, shushu! Sorry, I love to dance.

Also, if you didn't notice, I held back against Teddy. My existence is actually an Equip type, so, if I wanted to get serious with him, I would've geared up… Hey, a cat can't just walk around offing his buds. That's not cool, baby.

There *will* be a lot of character build in this volume, so, hey, we might even get to see what I can do. I'm cool with Dawny and Stu; maybe they'll give me a chance… Mu, shushu! But don't think a cat is all about mischief.

—I'm actually the "nicest free-spirit on the planet". Or so I've been told.

Feh. I'll let all of you be the final judges of that.

Anyway, my time is up. I'm under lockdown at the Mullen Institute, and…there's no telling what'll happen to me there. So, I'm a little nervous.

Be sweet on a cat: Protest for me? I'm not the criminal everyone's making me out to be here. I'm a peaceful gorgon; a pacifist, not a fighter or a killer.

…Bah! Who am I kidding? I probably deserve it for being so weak. But I'm not giving up hope. Good mojo's in the air and I'm feeling high, baby!

Mu, shushu. I'm out this piece, cats and kitties.

Until next time, stay solid, baby. See you later!

* * *

 _ **Opening Theme:**_ _ **Heaven in the Hell**_

 _ **Artist: Mizuki Nana**_

* * *

 **:O:**

 **:O:** **S** **tephen's** **P** **erspective** **:O:**

 **:O:**

 _ **M** **ullen** **I** **nstitute,** **D** **ublin**_

 _ **9** **M** **ay, 2011**_

 _ **05:26**_

 **:-:**

When a vampire sleeps, the only thing seen is the darkness of yesteryear.

They don't "dream," they don't even have nightmares. Vampires see memories in their sleep; visions of what can never be forgotten.

 _…_ _My…everyone…_

Stephen sees visions of his family, friends and loved ones; all of them...dying one by one. His soul cries "why them" and "for what reason," among other things. Answers he's been searching his soul for...for ages now. And still, to this very day, not a single person can answer his unheard pleas. Or mend his broken heart.

 _…_ _No...stop… Leave them…_ So much despair, it's no wonder why he turned to medicine… Those that hurt the most, their hands will either heal or kill.

Stephen went from killing to healing. He became a doctor to prevent these horrible images from happening all over again. But sadly, the church is relentless; they'll stop at nothing to fill their bellies with human blood, bone and flesh.

A horrible image of his wife sacrificing herself—being eaten alive by monsters—awakens in him in a fright. "AAH—!"

He rises ignorant of his whereabouts, which furthers his trepidation.

When he fell asleep earlier, he was in his car with Stuart and Dawnavan. But now he seems to be in a bed, resting, recovering from centuries of insomnia… Unfortunately, his resting process has come to a saddening pause.

 _—_ _Why did I have to see that?_

He asks himself this as if attempting to deny what he saw; a terrible remembrance that recurs every time he falls asleep.

As a doctor, he knows the routine: When suffering a night terror, wait it out. Usually, the episode stops on its own.

A centuries-old traumatic experience coupled with a stressful work schedule: These are the makings of such visions. _I really need to take a break._

—and, indeed, he does.

Stephen has serviced thousands of patients in his Infinity tenure. Most, if not all, of his operations were successes; some would even consider them to be "miracles". But the strain of success takes its toll on the mind.

Should he fall asleep again, nothing will be different.

It's still raining in Dublin. Local forecasts predict these showers will continue for a few days, which isn't too out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, vampires don't like water. It weakens them, especially after an extensive battle. As a result, vampires *hate* rainy days.

It was also raining on "that day," when the church took everything from him.

 _No, I can't cry… If I do, I'll end up hurting people._

 _…_ _That's not what I want… So, suck it up, paddy. Suck it up._

 _Keep a straight face, don't let the memories get to you...no matter how much you loved those people… Don't let your emotions show, especially when you don't have your pills handy._

To combat the side-effects of crying, vampires take a vitamin called **B** ; a play on the word "blood" invented by the doctor himself. The vitamin is an antidote that reverses the persuasions of a vampire's bloodlust.

He forgot to bring a bottle this time around, which isn't like him. Then again, when you haven't slept in five centuries, memory loss isn't an unusual thing.

The doctor lifts his head and notices that he's alone in this dark room. No one else is in here; no life force, existential force, nothing at all.

 _Alone. It's best this way… Getting too close to me...gets people killed._

It's paining to feel this way, but he smiles nonetheless. Perhaps to hide the agony of realizing how much he locks his heart away.

Stephen remains alone to keep others alive.

After that day, frigidity became his greatest weapon. Though he has moments where he openly expresses himself to others, in the end, he keeps to himself.

Suddenly, he detects several quieted existential forces… _They're here, my friends… I'd recognize their energies from miles away. So warm._

 _Having them around brings joy to my old heart. Even if for a moment… But still, I can't allow them to get too close._

 _…_ _What Dawny said to me in the car_ _—_ The sweet memory Dawnavan gave him: To hear that someone loves him, and values his friendship… That meant a lot to the old soul, giving him a good reason to finally rest his head.

Love is what the church despises; thus, love will defeat them. But during his church tenure, Stephen learned something: The clerics are *also* filled with love; however, their "love" is bred from a different mold. Enthusiasts of the old ways only know the feed; what they covet the most… Their one true love.

 _My duty isn't over yet. I must keep fighting the best way I know how._

 _For the ones who love me, I can't give up._

 _—_ _Dawny, thank you. You and Stu… You're like sons to me, so that really set my spirit at ease. Before I go, I…I should thank you personally._

 _It may seem awkward at first, but…I'll mean it… I'll mean every word._

The rain continues to pour, as warmth returns to Stephen's heart.

He soon finds the strength to stand and approach his window, where he takes a moment to reflect on bygone days.

 _Trying to keep up with sprogs. This paddy has gotten old, but it never hurts to try… I really hope they accept my feelings._

 _—_ _Heh. What to say, what to say… I was never good at these things. At least not like I used to be back then._

 _Oh well, no use thinking too hard about it. I've spouted miracles out the arse for years, so this shouldn't be too hard for a paddy._


	2. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (A-1)

**~ Act 7 ~**  
 **[It's No Crime]**  
 _Everyone has something they love._

* * *

 _ **Ferryman Trading Co., Sydney**_

 _ **9 May, 2011**_

 _ **07:32—?'s Perspective**_

 **:-:**

Tension is high in New South Wales.

Less than an hour ago, Babyface contacted an associate at the local military base, **F t. Arista**… A task force was dispatched; their assignment: To protect Babyface and ensure that no one enters the Ferryman building.

The main branch is under lockdown.

Per their superiors, the task force, led by **M ajor Arturia M. Lewis**, will be stationed there until further notice. For the preservation of their lord's sustenance, they must endure. _Who do they think they are, giving us such a stupid assignment?_

 _Aren't the holy ones much stronger than Gideon? I don't get it._ The major frustrates in thought alone, remaining composed in front of her subordinates.

It is strange indeed, how the church employs underlings to handle what they could in mere seconds.

Protecting Babyface is understandable, but doing favors for the church is unheard of. _No… That was said to make matters urgent._

 _We're here to cover the zombie, this has nothing to do with our lord._

"Major, a moment of your time."

"Hm—?"

One of her subordinates, **O fficer Joseph W. Simmons**, approaches.

He seems tense at the moment, a bit shaken. This concerns the major.

"What is it, Simmons?"

He arrives, his voice drowned with trepidation. "Major, are you sure about this?"

"Sure about what? Doing my job?"

"Babyface is…you know…one of 'them'."

"—and so is our lord. Don't let it get to you, Simmons.

The last thing I need on *my* hands is explaining *your* death to *your* wife. So keep it together, alright?

*Don't* leave me with that burden. You hear me?"

Not all Gideonites think highly of their superiors. Some fear and avoid them like the plague, and others… The level of fear varies.

Simmons' fear is moderate, but, when encountering an *actual* nightwalker, he tenses up. _He's not hearing me… This guy, always nervous._

 _What am I going to do with him?_

Despite her sympathies, the major remains firm. "Simmons, get your act together. We're protecting a zombie, not fighting one.

Besides, we have nothing to fear right now.

The sun's out, so if anything goes down, he's our biggest asset. Besides, Babyface protects us; he's our supporter."

"He also made hamburgers out of my best friend's family."

 _—Babyface did *what*!?_

After hearing something like that, the major's unsure what to make of their charge. Then again, Babyface is employed by the church, so perhaps it was an issue because…Babyface doesn't sell Gideonites as livestock.

"Yeah, you heard right, Major.

It happened seventeen years ago, but I remember it like it happened yesterday. Just thinking about it…

—we shouldn't be here, Major. Something doesn't feel right."

Simmons' suspicions are starting to become more vivid, more believable.

Observing her surroundings, the major realizes how eerie their post is: They're standing in the heart of a meat factory that distributes human body parts to church-sponsored buyers.

The smell of old flesh is weak due to constant maintenance; much too weak to be called "a stench". But the task force isn't on safe ground.

This place… "Return to your position, Simmons. There's eight of us against one nightwalker in his office. And the nightwalker in question is our ally.

Who you *need* to fear is the radicals, not Babyface."

"But, Major—"

"Wonderland is history, defunct, a faded memory… Ferryman is essential: If you want to keep your job, stop complaining and get serious.

But you can run if you want. I'm not stopping you… Heh."

It was a bit cruel of her to end her statement that way, but Simmons is struck with an unnecessary fear. He's not thinking clearly… As he is now, he'll endanger their mission, and cause them everything.

So, an ultimatum was presented to him: Stay or run.

Should he stay, Simmons *must* display courage and determination. He has a lot riding on this job, and years of service that would go to waste if he died here.

Should he run, Simmons would be penalized for his actions. He would undoubtedly lose his position, but he would be able to leave with his life.

Unfortunately, his contract with Gideon would be terminated; thus, he'd be doomed: His entire family would be processed before they could even blink.

"Sorry for troubling you, Major."

"You weren't 'troubling' me, Simmons. You were confiding in me, which I don't have a problem with.

And sorry for sounding a like a bitch. Just keeping you on your toes."

"Oh. Thanks, Major… I needed that." Simmons departs, lying to both himself and his commanding officer.

Fortunately, the major is sharp: She knows he's only saying that to avoid burdening her any further. Perhaps from reconsidering his position, and what would result from continuing down his current path.

 _We don't have time to be scared._

The major says this in thought, reminding herself of how serious this mission really is. _Babyface, the church, it doesn't matter. I take my job seriously._

 _As long as the name "Major Lewis" is involved, no radical will enter this building. I *dare* Infinity to set *foot* in here; they're dead, instantly, if they do…_

 _…I...I…_

 _—I have someone else I must protect, not just our charge. So if I have to make a deal with the devil, so be it… I'd do anything—for her._

To put everything on the line for someone else: Motivation in the face of impending danger… Just *who* is responsible for the major's tenacity?


	3. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (A-2)

_**G**_ _ **ideon**_ _ **R**_ _ **ecruitment**_ _ **A**_ _ **gency,**_ _ **L**_ _ **ondon**_

 _ **9**_ _ **M**_ _ **ay, 2011**_

 _ **09:51—**_ _ **?**_ _ **'**_ _ **s**_ _ **P**_ _ **erspective**_

 **:-:**

News of Babyface's security measures has garnered media attention.

First Wonderland, now Ferryman… Infinity is becoming serious, ruining the church's pockets mercilessly.

 _I can't believe those heretics, carrying on the way they do. They're doing nothing but mustering up trouble._

Church loyalists are against Infinity's present actions. They despise it, seeing it as heresy against their masters, especially their lord… Yes, these people *worship* the Old Man, blindly, which isn't a good thing.

To Gideon, the Old Man is a savior; someone who brought them out of poverty, gave them jobs and homes to live in. He's their "everything". So, their opinions are virtually understandable… _God will smite them for their crimes. Our lord has been so gracious to us, and look at what they're doing:_

 _Destroying his finances… At this point, it seems even Gideon will soon be defunct. And that's something I won't stand for._

A masked maiden in a black habit, a nun in service to the church, sits alone at her desk, absorbed by this morning's news broadcast. "...Citizens, if you see anyone approaching the Ferryman building, please, contact your local authorities.

This is Brenda Norwood with Sunrise 9. We'll be back after these messages."

The nun turns off the television.

She can't bear to hear another word about Infinity's crimes against her lord. It sickens her, and, for the first time in her life, she feels the need to punish another; to exercise brutal force.

 _Even the news speaks so *casually* about it. Blasphemy!_

 _…_ _Our lord… He's in danger._

 _This must stop. This must stop *right now*_ —

Her unheard ire is quieted by her ringing landline… According to her caller ID, she's receiving a call from Belfast.

This is the first time this has happened. Her branch usually doesn't do business with the said city, but she must still take this call; it's her duty.

The nun answers the phone. "Hello! This is **Sister Estelle** of Gideon R.A., London. How may I direct your call today?"

"—Mornin', Stella. It's Rem. What's up?"

"—!? D. Remedy? What a *pleasant* surprise." Yes, the elder brother of Dead Motion has personally rung her office phone.

"How're things going at the office?"

"We recently recruited 978 believers. Unemployment rates have dropped another 7.98%.

I'm proud of that, Rem, but…"

Sister Estelle's voice wettens, and she loses what she wants to say.

No. It's more like she's struggling to speak because her heart...is breaking.

"What's wrong, Stella? You sound upset."

"—have you seen the news? Infinity is hitting us *hard*.

Wonderland was a *magical* place, and should Ferryman fall… Nothing good would come from this.

Also, about Father Mycenae—"

"No need to tell me. Father Kerrigan already gave us the heads-up.

Ol' B. D. M. is a cool dude, but he couldn't cut it. We're both close to him, so it hurts me as much as it hurts you."

Sister Estelle becomes quiet, bothered by what D. Remedy just said to her: About Father Kerrigan contacting him.

When the said elite touches base with others, it's for business purposes. It's rarely a personal call, so the nun can't help but wonder… "He issued you a contract, didn't he?"

"Yeah. Me and li'l bro are out for the old doctor."

Sister Estelle shocks!

"You mean… Father Paddington? That sweet old soul!?"

"Yep, him, and before you say anything else...we don't want to do it."

"I expected you two would feel that way. After all, he—"

"I know, Stella. Don't remind me, alright.

This is hard enough as it is."

It seems Stephen, or "Father Paddington" as the church regards, has a deep connection with Dead Motion and Sister Estelle. Just mentioning his former name provokes cold sensations of pain and sorrow.

 _Father Kerrigan hasn't overcome the agony of defeat. And it's been five centuries… Yesterday marks a few months from the anniversary of—_

"Stella, you still with me?"

D. Remedy awakens the nun from her thoughts. "Oh. Yes, I am."

"You alright, Stella? You're not one to space out like that."

"No, Rem, I'm fine. Just…

—I don't like where this is going."

Ironically, D. Remedy undergoes the same situation: A moment of silence.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, Stella. I'm here… Just feeling like shi—I mean, 'really bad' right now."

Sister Estelle wants to laugh, but this isn't a laughing matter. Hearing D. Remedy correct his language to refrain from offending her: She always sees humor in this.

 _Lord, help him. That potty mouth of his… Tee hee!_

The headhunter hears her huffing.

"Sis, you laughing at me?"

"—I'm sorry, Rem."

"Naw, it's alright. I know how you are about profanity, so...you know."

"I do, Rem. And thank you.

God sees your heart."

D. Remedy wants to believe that. But the way things are going… "Stella, you're a good woman; you give so many people hope…

—but you're serving God in a den of devils. My brother and I…*we* became devils to save our tribe. So, no matter how much it hurts, we have to do this.

I just wanted to make sure our tribe would be okay, in case we didn't make it."

Those are strong words, things the nun has never heard D. Remedy say before.

Normally, he's quite different from this, so…she's a little surprised.

"...I'll do everything I can, Rem. You called the right person."

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"It's a guarantee. And…

—be careful, Rem. Your children need their father."

"...I know, Stella. I know…"

He's hurting… D. Remedy is succumbing to the pressure.

At the moment, he's fighting his emotions; his eyes are burning with tears he has yet to cry. So stubborn, but for the sake of his tribe… "—we'll come back."

"I know you will, Rem. May God be with you."

"You too, Stella…you too…"

* * *

 _ **Queen's University, Belfast**_

 _ **9 May, 2011**_

 _ **09:57—Li'l Thrill's Perspective**_

 **:-:**

The call was made from Belfast's public research university, Queen's.

D. Remedy hangs up the main office landline, his gloves stained with crimson: The blood of all those on the campus; students and faculty members alike.

Yes, Dead Motion recently committed mass murder. It took them a few hours, but they managed to claim every head in the Queen's Quarter area of Belfast.

Such violence is unbefitting of the Oti, so the act doesn't rest well with them.

"...There's no way out of this one, li'l bro."

"Yeah, I know that. But we had to do it."

The thought of being forced to kill: A sickening thing in every sense.

It's torture… Everyone that died in the past few hours were Infinity supporters, a feat done to repay the radicals for destroying Wonderland.

 _I can't believe Mr. Ghostie made us do that._

Li'l Thrill suffers in silence, presently in another form: **Cutting Edge** ; a double-edged sword mode that enables a balance of speed, power and defense for Dead Motion. In this state, he's scabbarded to his elder brother's back.

Li'l Thrill is still able to speak, but only D. Remedy can hear his voice. Anyone outside of their sync rate won't be able to hear him… This is another feature of their existence; what gives them an edge over their contracts.

"Big bro, we can't stay here. If we're spotted, we'll be arrested on sight."

"I know, Thrill. But I'm not sweating the authorities."

"—Then why are your hands shaking?"

D. Remedy *knows* what they're doing is wrong.

Li'l Thrill knows it too, but he's beginning to accept their reality as well. Soon, he too will descend to this level of guilt.

 _—and, once again, I know I'll hold him back._

 _Big bro's fighting hard; he killed *all these people* just to make a statement. And they weren't even apart of our contract._

 _…What was Mr. Ghostie thinking? What was the point of this?_

...He's already there…

The guilt of obedience is more punishing than the guilt of illicitness.

"Big bro, what did Stella say about our tribe?"

Li'l Thrill brings up an important question to dodge the pain.

"—Stella was the 'right' person to call; she guarantees their safety." D. Remedy's reply is filled with pain.

His younger brother understands. "Yeah…she is… Let's get this over with."

"Right, li'l bro."

Dead Motion departs from the main office to complete their contract, their spirits heavy with guilt.


	4. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (A-3)

_**M**_ _ **ullen**_ _ **I**_ _ **nstitute,**_ _ **D**_ _ **ublin**_

 _ **9**_ _ **M**_ _ **ay, 2011**_

 _ **12:27—**_ _ **N**_ _ **'**_ _ **D**_ _ **our's**_ _ **P**_ _ **erspective**_

 **:-:**

Time waits for no one: The afternoon is already here.

The rain has come to a pause, but the sky is still cloudy and windy. It could start raining again at any given moment.

Operations at Mullen Institute have recommenced. Officials are either busy instructing students, working in the laboratory, or guarding the confinement ward.

N'Dour, on the other hand, is monitoring the slumbering Dawnavan, who was awake for over 24 hours before falling asleep earlier.

To pass the time, he's reading a good book: The Art of Peace by Ueshiba Morihei; a bestseller about aikido, a gentle martial art.

 _As soon as you concern yourself with the "good" and "bad" of your fellows, you create an opening in your heart for maliciousness to enter._

 _Testing, competing with, and criticizing others weakens and defeats you._

This excerpt stands out to him, touching basis with what transpires in the world: Everyone's fighting; humans and nightwalkers alike… It's safe to say all earthlings are barbaric creatures.

Ironically, no matter how much one side struggles to achieve victory, they're defeated in the end...by their own selves.

 _It's true, so very true… Why are we fighting each other, when, in the end, we're losing so much more than what we're gaining?_

 _—_ _The church is a den of fools, and, sadly...we're no different from them. We say we're "fighting to protect" something, but so many people are dying in the process… This world...it… If this madness keeps up…_

N'Dour dreads the possibilities set before him.

The chances of what could result from this war: No matter how he looks at them, the apprentice sees nothing good.

The conquest for unity, the battle for the feed; nothing but death.

 _It's much too late to propose a treaty. The Old Man would decline it reflexively, and capitalize on all innocents in his midst._

 _The UN has no say over anything; no world leader does. The Old Man is pretty much the lord of this planet… Everything they say means nothing to him._

"Y-a-w—!" The apprentice is startled by the awakening Dawnavan.

 _Oh! He's up…finally. That *yawn* though._

"My, my. That was *magnifi*—"

Eyes meet for the first time: Dawnavan and N'Dour; total strangers.

"—cent… Um, hello there."

N'Dour smiles. "Good afternoon. How did you sleep?"

"Good…'afternoon'? It's *that late* already?" Dawnavan puts his frustration aside, remembering he's questioning a total stranger. "I'm sorry, err…

—we've never met before. And I don't know where I am, so—"

"Youssou N'Dour, apprentice of Dr. Lyte; a friend if you'll have me."

N'Dour responds abruptly, but not malevolently. No doubt to eliminate the possibility that Dawnavan might be cautious of him.

He retains a smile to refrain from appearing suspicious to Dawnavan, but his acquaintance isn't trustworthy of strangers; for personal reasons.

Something in Dawnavan's past, something he has trouble discussing with others… He hides such things in the back of his mind, hoping no one will *ever* discover them…because…they're much too damaging.

 _—_ _Is he alright?_

 _I hope I haven't troubled him._

"Who is 'Dr. Lyte'?"

Dawnavan asks this question to evade his memories.

"—!? *Oh,* well…

Dr. Lyte is the director of this institution, Laurence J. Mullen.

It's a vocational school, but you can pursue a normal curriculum here as well. Mullen is also a maximum security prison, a research facility, and a training center for new-bloomers like yourself." Answered professionally and with knowledge of the institution; proof of N'Dour's studiousness, perceptivity and adaptivity.

Even when presented with sudden questions, N'Dour remains calm. This trait is received well by Dawnavan. _He's smiling. Good, real good._

 _It'd be nice to have a friend, besides the doctor of course._

"So, N'Dour—I like that name, by the way…"

"Thank you."

"—are you…Senegalese by chance?"

"Yes, you could tell?"

"With little difficulty...because I'm also of the culture." A chance union: N'Dour and Dawnavan both have Senegalese roots.

 _—_ _My people… I feel so relieved._

"What's your name, brother?" The apprentice speaks warmly.

For the first time, Dawnavan acts out-of-character: He blushes. Perhaps from encountering someone like N'Dour; one of his people.

"Dawnavan Crowley.

My family moved to New Zealand, and my name was Anglicized to blend in with the culture. Hearing names like N'Dour is very exotic to me… It's handsome."

 _Handsome? *My* name? I'm flattered, but…_

 _—_ _it's out-of-character, but I should tell him._

N'Dour closes his book, turns in bed and places his feet on the floor. He rests in a slumped manner, hiding his eyes from Dawnavan.

A quick breath, and N'Dour enlightens his acquaintance:

"Don't discredit your own by reverencing mine. 'Dawnavan' is a play on the Irish/Gaelic name 'Donovan,' which means 'dark' or 'dark-haired chieftain'.

'Crowley' references a clan with origins from Dakar; slaves turned by invading Welsh vampires, liberated by witches and given a chance to smite their killers. In time, to escape the violence, the Crowley rebels returned to Senegal by boat."

Dawnavan places his feet on the floor, giving N'Dour his undivided attention. No doubt from finding intrigue in his acquaintance's revelation.

"My family…were once slaves. And we—"

"—killed your enslavers; 'ate' them, but not by mouth.

Your blood is special, Mr. Crowley. It liberated your clan and scarred the church; the ones who employed those monsters from the start.

I…want to watch over you, Mr. Crowley. I want to help you grow, so we can somehow stop the fighting. For good." It's so overwhelming: To hear his lineage summarized so eloquently in front of him… Dawnavan doesn't know *what* to say.

 _It was sudden, but it had to be said._

 _I really mean it: I want to help him, and Mr. Bennett as well._

 _What the church did to their families… *Unforgivable*. But we mustn't seek revenge. Instead, we should take another path; a new way._

"N'Dour, you want to help me. I appreciate that.

But how can you do that?

I don't understand. Nothing… I don't understand anything at all." In his mind, after hearing Dawnavan's confusion, N'Dour wrestles with himself.

Perhaps it was strange of him, coming off so strongly. But his heart was in the right place, so his intentions were good; very good. He has Dawnavan, Stuart and their affiliates' well-being in mind and at heart.

 _—_ _I should apologize. That was much too sudden._

"Dr. Lyte will explain everything to you. More vividly than I can.

Mother Katherine will have you and Mr. Bennett stay here. You must be prepared at all times. The church will kill you without a second thought; nothing like our newest inmate, Prince Gorgon Mycenae.

He didn't want to hurt you two. Why, I don't know. But I saw it for myself: Surveillance showed his actions against you, Mr. Bennett and your friends. He was leading the church into a web of lies. Father Theodore helped him in the end.

Dr. Lyte has asked me to not meddle, but I think it unfair: Him, suffering a sentence he hasn't earned.

The prince *did* kidnap you two, and he used self-defense against officials. But he *didn't kill* anyone; *someone else* did the killing, not him." Once again, N'Dour speaks suddenly, proving how troubled he is by everything.

"Don't overstep your boundaries. As an apprentice, your ideas can only go so far; truthful, flawed or in-between.

You have that man's best at heart. Good, *very* good, but don't put yourself in the hot seat with your superiors. That's not where you want to be.

I'm 'Mr. Bennett's' manager, not just his boyfriend. So, I know a thing or two about conformity and taking charge… I'm also a fellow reader, and someone who finds substance in Morihei…*surely,* you can do better than this."

Dawnavan silences N'Dour in both thought and spoken word. Not out of annoyance or spite; Dawnavan isn't that kind of person.

He sees quality in N'Dour.

As a person attracted by this, Dawnavan speaks in an encouraging manner. He doesn't want to see N'Dour defeated by his own self. So, as his elder, Dawnavan remains firm but displays gentleness in medio.

 _He's right. Me, behaving so…_

 _—I think I'm going to enjoy working with him._

"You'll be moved to a room with Mr. Bennett by this evening. You'll enjoy your stay more with him at your side.

I'm looking forward to working with you, Mr. Crowley. Discard the initial awkwardness; I'm under a lot of stress as of late.

Your belongings are still where you left them; in Dr. Farrelly's car. Our facility has supplied you with essentials to get freshened up, and you should have a warm meal waiting for you when you meet Dr. Lyte.

You're safe, Mr. Crowley. You'll grow here, I'm sure of it. And until you and Mr. Bennett fully blossom, I'll do my best to watch over you."

The first thing Dawnavan does after waking up is make a friend.

Quite the inviting initiator. However, there's more to this acquaintanceship:

N'Dour wants to end the fighting once and for all. To do this, he'll need friends strong enough to silence the Old Man's madness. N'Dour already has the support of Infinity, which is good. Dawnavan and Stuart's support, however, is paramount.

"—Thank you, N'Dour. That means a lot."

Dawnavan's support has been secured. Now, he must befriend Stuart, which may prove difficult considering the man's violent past.

"You're welcome, Mr. Crowley."

"Please, call me Dawny. All my friends do."

"Alright… Dawny. I can't *wait* to meet Mr. Bennett." Dawnavan is tickled by N'Dour's eagerness; proof of juvenile excitement.

"Stu is a nice man, a bit *too* nice. He's quiet at first, but you'll get used to that after you talk with him a little.

I ensure you, we'll get along. All of us. Alright?"

 _He's making this so easy, so inviting… I like that. And I'm glad._

 _Dawny, my friend. I have someone else to talk to now. Hopefully, Mr. Bennett supplements these feelings._

 _God, *please,* I want this work._

 _Our bond… I know it'll create a miracle._


	5. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (A-4)

_**M**_ _ **ullen**_ _ **I**_ _ **nstitute,**_ _ **D**_ _ **ublin**_

 _ **9**_ _ **M**_ _ **ay, 2011**_

 _ **14:12—**_ _ **N**_ _ **atalie's**_ _ **P**_ _ **erspective**_

 **:-:**

The mother cleaned up earlier, and dressed in fresh casualwear for the day. After last night's battle, her former outfit is damaged.

She won't be wearing it again anytime soon.

To pass the time, Natalie visits Dr. Lyte's laboratory; a place she lent a hand in making some decades ago in the past.

So many precious memories. Just being here fills her heart with joy.

She happens by the inactive S. I. A., and her mind is taken on a trip into the distant past.

 _Dr. Lyte's pride and joy. I haven't used this thing in years._

 _Looks like she made a few changes: The interior is clearer, more spacious. I can also tell she added in a few holographic apparatuses._

 _The power of a lady's heart; a thing of beauty, through and through._

"Good afternoon, Mother." Her attention is grasped by none other than the doctor herself, entering the laboratory to commence training preparations.

"*Dr. Lyte*. It's so good to see you."

The old friends share a warm hug for a few moments.

"How are your wounds, Mother?"

 _Nothing ever changes._

 _Dr. Lyte worries about everyone, especially her loved ones. You'd think an old girl like her would learn to trust others a little more than that._

"Vampires have a natural healing factor. All I needed was a little rest."

"Oh. Then forgive my rustiness, Mother. It's been awhile since I left the lab." Dr. Lyte releases her old friend, and approaches S. I. A.

Natalie's is drawn to the machine's modifications.

"You've *really* spruced this girl up, haven't you?"

"Of course, Mother. She's not perfect, no machine ever is. But S. I. A. has bred some of Infinity's best agents in her 20+ years of service.

Mr. Bennett and Mr. Crowley will be part of the mold soon, but, like all new-bloomers, they have to start with the basics. Their training course should take no more than a month, and until they reach a level where they can implement their existences beyond 50%, I've a little trinket for them."

 _Always full of surprises. I wonder what she's hiding from me *this* time._

 _Well, it won't hurt to ask._

"So, what kind of 'trinket' are we talking about here?" Dr. Lyte is pleased to receive Natalie's intrigue.

In response, the doctor leaves S. I. A. in standby mode, and approaches a small containment cylinder on a mount to the northeast.

Natalie follows her, curious to know what Dr. Lyte is up to. Her curiosity is graciously rewarded: Dr. Lyte has created a set of technological wristbands fitting of the new-bloomers, Dawnavan and Stuart.

Natalie's eyes widen with fascination, much to Dr. Lyte's pleasure.

"I call them **Romancers** : Existential limiters created specifically for new-bloomers; adjusted to one's initial sync rate, of course.

I spent a few hours this morning tuning these babies. Too high or too low, and you'd be in for a hurting. But that shouldn't be a problem now."

 _I've seen these before: Theodore wore one when he started field training about a century or so ago._

 _So, Stu and Dawny will be using these, huh._

 _This should prove interesting. But no time for idle thoughts._

"I wish I could stay and monitor their training, but I have to return to HQ. Also, it would've been nice spend more time with you.

Paddy feels the same way no doubt.

Still, we're counting on you, Dr. Lyte… Stu and Dawny are precious to us. I have no doubt in my mind, they'll grow more with you."

Natalie says this with a depth of respect for the doctor; a confession of their bond, one Dr. Lyte is deeply touched by.

"Thank you, Mother. I'll do all that I can for them."

 _I can trust her; she's the best person for them to be with. If they stay with us, Stu and Dawny will be in danger. It's too risky for them right now._

 _Leaving them behind… I *hate* doing that, but it's something I must do. I'm needed in Rutherford; it's where I belong._

"See you around, Dr. Lyte. I must be off."

"Be safe, Mother."

"You do the same, old friend." Natalie departs in confidence, unsuspecting of the dangers that await her party in the near future.

* * *

 ** _Mullen Institute, Dublin_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _14:18—Mycenae's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

All is quiet in the confinement ward. Among hundreds contained there, Prince Mycenae is being held in CB-591.

The prince has been free of Theodore's diamonds for hours now. At the moment, he's resting in his bed, humming a catchy tune. His hands are behind his head, his legs are crossed, and his right foot jiggles to the beat.

"~...I got my baby on my mind, ba-da-ba, ba…~"

 _Nothing like a little mood music to pass the time away._

 _Breakfast was solid, baby. Cat's gonna get fat, but that's alright. Mu, shushu._

"~...I smell cheap cologne…~" A gorgon's nose never fails: Mycenae actually smells cologne, and it's circulating through his cell entrance.

A knock comes from the door.

"Hey, gorgon. It's me."

The irony of it all: Theodore has come to see him. "How are you in there?"

"I'm fine, Teddy. Been in better places though."

"You've got the best cell in the ward. Be grateful, alright."

"Hey, Teddy, come *on*. Don't tease a cat. That's not cool, baby."

"—then perhaps I should refrain from telling you something: About the lessening of your sentence." Mycenae is hit heavily by this; to hear that his sentence is being lessened is great news. Even after doing what he did, the radicals are showing him favor.

 _I can't believe this. A cat like *me* being given a pass card?_

 _Groovy, baby! But…_

"What're you cookin', Teddy?"

"—I'm going to have you enrolled in Infinity's protection program. But at the same time, I need you out there; you're strong, your majesty. Really strong." To be recognized by someone he exercised lethal force against: Mycenae's unsure what to think about this.

He doesn't know whether to be flattered or nervous; grateful or cautious.

Also, to be enrolled in a protection program, and to be told that he's needed because of his strength… "I'm not strong, Teddy; I'm weak.

And why would you want to 'protect' me? I kidnapped your friends and made an attempt on your life...sort of."

"Your vibes weren't malevolent, your majesty. You weren't trying to kill anyone, and you didn't… You fought because you don't want the church to hurt someone you love. There's nothing 'weak' about that.

Your majesty, please, let me help you.

I…was just like you once: I felt caught up in my own self-doubt. I had so much against me, and I thought…that if I just disappeared…everyone would be fine."

 _Why is he telling me this? It's not like him._

 _But maybe…he really *did* feel me because… That's me. That's how I feel inside._

 _…Teddy…are you *really* trying to help me, cool cat?_

The gorgon leaves his bed and approaches the entrance, moved by Theodore's kindness.

When he arrives, Mycenae places his hand on the door, and exchanges a secret about his existence: He, too, can track things via a connection with the earth.

He knew beforehand; how all existences with earth attributes can detect entities using the planet itself. To this end, a nightwalker *created from* the earth has an edge over one such as himself. Theodore…he didn't have to do it, but…

 ** _Thank you, Teddy._**

 ** _You're doing all that you can for me. Anything I can do to help, I'll do it._**

 ** _You've been really sweet on a cat, and that means a lot. Thanks for giving me those offers… I'll take them._**

 ** _And if you need my help on the field, I'm in; all the way, cool cat._**

Theodore receives Mycenae's feelings. To this end, he feels the need to ask… **_So, tell me. You ever thought about getting a new wagen?_**

 ** _I saw the one you had before we left Wonderland; needs a little tuning. No, scratch that—the old bug has about had it._**

Mycenae laughs wholesomely for the first time.

Theodore's implying that he's thinking about getting him a new ride. It's true, Mycenae's Volkswagen isn't in the best shape of its life. So, one could call it "a personal favor" from a once-upon-a-time enemy.

But still, it's strange: How quickly they're becoming close.

 _This is too good to be true. Teddy treating me like this…_

"I'll take it, but don't hurt my baby; she's been with me for years.

A new ride won't kill me though. It's about time I give my baby a rest. We've been everywhere together… I'm sure going to miss her."

Theodore nods, realizing Mycenae's acceptance.

"Your majesty—"

"Call me 'Cyn,' all my friends do." That statement is abrupt on Mycenae's behalf, but it's for a good purpose: Theodore's being too formal.

"—right, Cyn. Nice nickname.

But above all else, I'm asking you to be committed. We can't help you or your girlfriend if you pull anything dirty. So, don't trust any clerics; they'll only serve in hindering your progression.

…Cyn, please. Say you're one of us now."

 _I have always been one of them, since the very beginning. I just didn't know how to tell them because…if I did, they would have killed her._

 _I'm not even sure if Salvia's still alive anymore. It's like the connection I have with her has been cut in half._

 _Whatever comes of this, I hope she'll be alright… With or without me._

"—I'm one of you, Teddy. Now, you have somewhere you need to be."

"Right, I do. And thank you...for not killing them."

"I could never live with myself if I did.

I may be a gorgon, but I have a human's heart… Those two, all of you, Salvia—I'll do it, if we can all live peacefully afterwards."

"We can, Cyn, and we will.

I have to go now. May God be with you." Theodore leaves to join his traveling party, having established closure with Mycenae.

The gorgon returns to his bed, lays down and continues his mood music.

 _I don't have to run anymore; never again. But so much more is at stake now._

 _Salvia, I'll get you back._

 _For now, I have to cooperate with these people. It's a great move though, the best I've made in years. And perhaps…after all is said and done…_

Mycenae puts his fears and doubts to rest. For now, he must retain hope in the face of uncertainty.

Hope is what got him this far. It took years, but something good might actually come out of developing a relationship with Infinity.

As he is now, this is the best place for him.

Time goes by, and the only thing he can sing about…is his beloved and everyone affected by the church. With the world on his mind, he continues to believe.

"~...Come on, baby, let me take you on a ride; we'll have a real good time.

Smell the flowers, take in the magic; I know it'll make ya' feel fine.~"

* * *

 **:O:**

 **:O: The BLOOD Saga: Night :O:**

 **:O:**


	6. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (B-1)

**_Europa Hotel, Belfast_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _17:46—White Album's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

If one has flesh, one has desires: This is a truth, no matter how disciplined one becomes.

Vampires are those who lost a battle against their flesh and died. Defeat was either forced upon them, or they accepted it over time…before they passed on. The immoralities learned in life are carried into the hereafter.

Turned or born that way; it doesn't matter. Vampires are vampires. Even those born of hybrid blood cannot ignore their desires… It's who they are, no matter how much they try to deny their true selves.

 _Pleasure… No matter how much I try to hide it, I am a vampire that desires pleasure. Even before I died, I was a fast one._

 _Any woman I could find, younger, older, it didn't matter._

 _Most vampires are this way; insatiable whores of little respect. We crave more than blood…more than life._

 _…This woman with me now…_

 _I had to have her. She is beautiful, and her soul is so ripe._

 _One moment of sin; a moment in time. Call me disgusting if you will, or gloat in verbal inventions on my behalf… If I don't get my fill, situations like this should be the least of *everyone's* worries._

White Album took a willing young woman of the evening for his own. His body is mostly dead, so the old cleric exercises the least of his existence to retain an erection for her enjoyment… Yes, *her* enjoyment.

He can barely feel a thing because his cellular structure is shot. It's a tragic truth for all true vampires: They don't know the enjoyment of their flesh anymore. It's faint and transient, a cruel teasing of the heart.

"Lord…Kerrigan… I love you…"

He doesn't even know what to say to this mortal woman.

She claims love for someone she barely even knows. It's pathetic to him, almost adorable to the old cleric… But he feels nothing for her.

All he sees…is her soul.

"What is your name, child?" The warmth in his voice halts her straddling, lowers her head and opens her eyes.

She looks into what she can make of his face: Deep browns obscured by the umbra of a dying afternoon sun. It's dark because Father Kerrigan had his windows blocked by hotel maintenance. He *hates* sunlight for more than common belief; because he, as a vampire and necromancer, lives for the night.

"Ja- **Janis**...hah…" The mortal woman manages to respond, overwhelmed by the vampire's girth, but relishing in it all at once.

 _Janis? What a darling name._

 _She seems smitten by me. Perhaps one of my worshipers._

"Are you a Gideonite, child?"

"Yes, Lord Kerrigan, I am."

"—Sleeping your way to the top, are you?"

"N—No, Lord Kerrigan. I…" That was an embarrassing question to be asked. As she is now, Janis seems like an office whore.

But Father Kerrigan needs her for reasons other than sex.

"Janis…"

"Y-Yes, Lord Kerrigan?"

"—I need you." The vampire lays a kiss on her neck, his voice warm and breathy. One peck makes her entire body weak.

"...L-Lord…Kerrigan… I...need you…too… I need you, my lord!"

" **Then become one with me**."

Upon his word, White Album's existence activates unbeknownst to Janis.

In an instant, her body transmutates: It takes upon a transparent image, and her being then becomes a fading wind that merges with White Album's soul.

 _I needed her love. My one true desire._

 _Janis, you may love me forever, safe in my heart._

A vampire cannot resist their desires, no matter how much they try. It's inevitable; a battle that always ends in their defeat.

Janis, like many others before her, has become a part of White Album. She has been collected for a greater purpose. As she is now, Janis is safe within the old vampire, sound asleep… A sleep quieter, colder and darker than death.

 _I must become strong enough to destroy both the sun *and* the moon. For that reason alone, I need an abundance of souls._

 _Janis, thank you._

 _Your love has given me that much more of a chance. I promise…I won't let your feelings be in vain. And for what it's worth… I actually feel sorry about this._

 _I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me… Janis._

With Dead Motion out in the field, White Album can rest easily.

The sibling headhunters are feared for their multitude of assassinations. Over 1000: A number pursued by many, and achieved by few.

The "few" is Dead Motion themselves.

White Album has done everything he can to help them, but his lord is a ravenous and frigid old soul: Should they fail their contracts in any way, their people, the Oti, would be manufactured, sold and marketed worldwide. That's something White Album refuses to allow because…to him…

 _I won't let your people die, boys. I've committed many sins in my tenure, but my heart found a place with the Oti; with you._

 _This one tribe… I can't afford to lose them._

 _For the first time in my career, I'm doing things I shouldn't be doing at all. I'm defying my lord and risking my life for you. D. Remedy, Li'l Thrill, please…_

 _—You must fight. You *must* win._

 _Kill the traitor and report back to me. Paddington has long since been our enemy, and it's about time he met his end… Those two changed his heart; Frederic and Maribel. They changed him more than he already did…because of *those* people. We thought he learned his lesson, but…he didn't._

 _So this must be done. No matter how much I *hate* him, it's still not right, and what we're doing is more sinful than loving a human… No matter how much it hurts, kill him. It's for the best—for all of us._

White Album doesn't even know what to make of himself anymore. His methods are contradicting because…in a way…he too is changing.

Even the darkest heart has the ability to care for others. And everyone has their reasons for doing the things that they do; moral or immoral. Still, one can only wonder how far White Album's love will go.


	7. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (B-2)

**_M_** ** _arquis_** ** _H_** ** _omes,_** ** _L_** ** _ondon_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _19:01—_** ** _S_** ** _ister_** ** _E_** ** _stelle's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

The sun is almost gone now. Its nocturnal sister will soon take the sky.

Sister Estelle admires the evening stars from her rooftop apartment.

The Marquis Homes complex is church-funded, church-owned. Executive officials have immediate residency there; a staple of their four-year contract.

After four years have run their course, executives can choose to opt-out of Marquis housing, which isn't penalized in any way. Sister Estelle is one of many who grew accustomed to living here, especially since Marquis Homes comes with the best security in the area… But security can only do so much.

In the past few months, Marquis has been under watch: Radical supporters have made attempts on residents, especially executive officials. Even with all her resources, Sister Estelle came under attack once… It happened just last night.

 _Infinity, the church; both are overrun with mindless dogs that would do anything for their masters._

 _I couldn't wait for help. If I didn't fight, I wouldn't be standing right now._

 _God, I had to take *that form*…and kill them._

 _I had a choice… I chose to live._

A group of three breached security, entered Marquis and caused a disturbance. Several residents died amid their crimes; murder, grand larceny, sexual assault, and the list goes on. So much was done… Sister Estelle couldn't look past their sins.

When doing the right thing become so wrong: Who could ignore this?

Young, hungry and untamed. The assailants weren't "radicals;" they were humans that became monsters, and, in the end, were killed by a monster much stronger than them. "Lord, forgive me for what I must do… Please…"

Sister Estelle revealed her true form, and quickly overpowered them. Speed, strength, killer instinct; all traits of the **Lamia**.

 _…_ _Because I loved him, because I became his mistress… I don't blame the goddess for smiting me; it's a curse I earned because I was young and foolish._

 _That beastly god, he caused so much pain to *so many* women. He is the reason why I lost faith in the Olympians, and turned my heart to a spirit that saved me from myself: The almighty on high,_ _ **Jehovah**_ _._

 _With Jehovah, I received the love I needed._

 _But I dare not show my face. It's much too horrifying, and, when I take that form, I lose control… I am no longer myself._

As a lamia, Sister Estelle becomes a half human, half serpent woman. She loses all ties to her human side, however, and her appetite overwhelms her… Thought becomes primal instinct, which drives her to eat her victims.

Her existence… "Obsess, **Material Girl**!"

—is indeed a powerful one, but comes with a price: Sister Estelle can only activate it when in her true form, and doing so causes her to blackout. Once Material Girl's territory expands, everything becomes dark… Anything can happen.

 _When I awoke, blood was everywhere…and those men were gone. I felt full, my habit was torn to shreds, and portions of the parking lot were damaged… I killed those men…for everyone here…because they deserved it._

 _Their evil had to disappear._

 _Help did come for me: A few residents aided me, and some even held me because they thought I had died. But that wasn't the case… I did "die," but not in the flesh; I died in the spirit._

 _When you kill someone, a part of yourself also dies._

 _How could I *not* know what it feels like? I've died so many times because I loved a man that didn't love me back._

 _A price I must pay for caring, I suppose. However, this "other" side of me… I can protect others if I will it strongly enough._

"Sister Estelle, are you alright? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

An elderly resident, **Mrs. Knight** , came to her aid.

Her neighbors covered her flesh, respecting the nun as a woman of dignity. "I can't believe those *monsters*. Infinity is the worst!"

"Is everyone alright?"

Sister Estelle had to tell them the truth.

"—No, some were killed because of them. The authorities wouldn't have made it here quick enough, and, as an official, I *am* the law in this complex.

I thank you once again for your help, everyone. I must go now.

Maintenance won't forgive me for this one, but I hope you find it in your hearts to do so… Good night, my brothers and sisters."

 _I was always too modest for my own good. I…am a weak woman, and I can admit that. Going from a queen to eating men alive… I loathe myself more than I do the radicals. And that's why I needed God's love more than life itself._

 _People can't survive without love; they say they can, but they can't. Nightwalkers are no different: We lie and say that we can to hide our weaknesses. We're more "humane" than the humans that we hate, and, perhaps…_

 _—_ _No. That *is* the reason why the church was made… Our leader is but the successor to the throne of the night; the second_ _ **Nightlord**_ _. His greed changed the church *long* ago, before any of us were even thought of._

 _What brought that change about? It's an ongoing mystery, one that has everyone wanting to know more about him._

 _…_ _ **Count Valdo**_ _…_ _our leader… Just *who* is he, really?_

Sister Estelle is but one of many questioners; a person who wants to know more about her master, Count Valdo.

She's questioned White Album about him, but he knows little about the Nightlord. Count Valdo, the Old Man, is a mystery to everyone.

"—He has much to hide. A man who commits the sins that *he does* has many secrets indeed. And…he's afraid to let them be known.

When one lives an iniquitous life, they choose solitude above anything else. Not because they're lonely, no, it's nothing of the sort… They must first wrestle with their demons before pursuing more sin. If not, their demons will consume them…

—just as they did with you, **Zeus**."

Just saying that name, Zeus, triggers her. The god she fell in love with, and, because of her love for him, she suffered for it.

He took advantage of her human heart, and his wife, **Hera** , took her rage out on Sister Estelle… Hera hated Estelle more than she did her husband because, no matter how much she explained her innocence, gods and humans should not lay together. It's forbidden… Zeus knew that and took her anyway, knowing what would come of his insatiability.

 _—_ _and now look at me: Forced to wear a mask. But the goddess' punishment is less painful than the god's deception._

 _Our leader is just like Zeus; playing with people's hearts._

 _Jehovah, please, heal our leader and our world. This planet would be so much more pleasant if the Nightlord knew love; *true* love, not the sins of the flesh… This is my fondest wish, and I know *you* can do it._

 _You can do *all* things… I am living proof of that. A better home, people that care about me and give me a reason to exist, a job that allows me to bring innocent people off the street: All your doing._

Sister Estelle cups her hands before her bosom and lowers her head, her eyes closed in prayer.

Her faith is stronger than any nightwalker, even the Nightlord himself. Her will to believe… Perhaps this, too, will aid in healing the world.

 _O Father God, hear my plea:_

 _Deliver us from evil this day; give birth to purity and love. Open the hearts of the wicked, cleanse them, and return what was stolen._

 _Touch the spirit of our leader, O Lord, and restore his broken heart. Let even the dead and undying be given peace. Blessed be thy name, O Lord; you are capable of all things, and through you are all things possible._

 _I seal this prayer in your name. May it be true. Amen and amen._


	8. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (B-3)

_**F**_ _ **erryman**_ _ **T**_ _ **rading Co.,**_ _ **S**_ _ **ydney**_

 _ **9**_ _ **M**_ _ **ay, 2011**_

 _ **20:01—**_ _ **O**_ _ **fficer**_ _ **S**_ _ **immons'**_ _ **P**_ _ **erspective**_

 **:-:**

It's been hours now, and the lockdown at Ferryman hasn't seen much action. Fortunately, Major Lewis' task force seems to be in one accord now.

Officer Simmons' fear has died down. He's now able to operate accordingly, and not endanger himself or his loved ones. For what it's worth, his confidence has skyrocketed, and his *true* nature as come forth: He's a "no-nonsense" soldier.

 _It's gotten late… Are those radicals even coming?_

 _—_ _No, wait. It's probably one of "those;" a sneak attack… Better yet, they might have information on us, and are probably waiting for…_

 _…_ _Yeah. That's it. Nightfall… Zombies are weak when the moon is out, so they'll attack when everyone's gone sleepy-bye._

 _Those smart ass rebels think they can get the slip on us, huh._

"Simmons, how are you holding up?" One of his peers, **Officer Donald E. Jones** , approaches; a friend and fellow official.

"Doing well, Jones. I'm alright now."

"The major has that effect on people."

"—Yeah, she does.

So, what about you? How's the watch?"

"Boring like all others. But the gang is keeping things lively." Moments like this are normal with these two. They're young, so Simmons and Jones are attracted to activity, which is the norm for most men in their age group.

 _It's good to have friends on the watch, especially when it drags out like this._

 _I'm not as social as Jones, so I don't bother with the other watchmen. I'm more concerned about whether or not we'll survive the night. I'll lend them a hand, but I'm not going to stand around and gossip about simple shit._

 _Jones can get along with anybody. Me, I'm low-key. But I wouldn't knock 'em if they if invited me; I'm nobody's asshole._

"So, I was thinking…about your birthday…"

Simmons is surprised: Jones remembered he'll be turning 24 in a week. And it's very rare that Jones approaches him with something like this.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"—I'm thinking about…doing something for you. I'm not going to lie; I'm no good at this, but that's apparent, right?" Jones' poor party-planning shines, making the two laugh. It's a nice moment in time… It may be their last, so making the best of what little time they have left is a good thing.

"Don't worry, Jones. I'm not looking for much.

Maybe…a sports night with the fam. How does that sound?"

"—like I'm going to school again."

"Really, Jones?"

"What am I supposed to say? You suck at the pins. Strike, strike, strike—I can't keep up with you. You're 'the worst." Simmons wants to sock him one for saying that, but it's all in fun; Jones is just teasing him.

 _Jones always knows how to make someone laugh. But…this laughter…_

 _—_ _why does it feel like…this'll be our last time?_

Their moment is ruined by the activation of Ferryman's intercom. "Attention, attention, faithful watchmen:

Babyface here. I wanted to thank you for your efforts."

The cowardly zombie finally speaks to his protectors.

Major Lewis, Officer Simmons and Jones, and their other task force members, pay close attention to Babyface's announcement.

"You're the best I hear, so I had you employed. You'll earn some serious bank for this, so do your worst out there.

Infinity is sure to send one of their Methuselah units; not an executive official. Those precious little black hoods are *chickenshit*. Powerful they are, but not as much as our lord… So, you stand a chance."

The task force members don't know what to make of this: Babyface is calling Infinity "chickenshit," yet he needed a troop of eight soldiers to protect him from the unexpected. That's a contradiction; one that makes him look stupid. Then again, perhaps this is a means to boost their confidence.

"I'm going to retire to my coffin. I have an 'early-to-bed, early-to-rise' schedule; for obvious reasons, of course.

Whatever you do, *don't* let those radicals enter this building.

See you in the morning, everyone. May God be with you." The zombie deactivates the intercom system, leaving the task force to their duties.

 _May God be with *us*? Humph. *We're* not the ones hiding in coffins._

 _"_ _Early-to-bed, early-to rise" my ass. And he has the nerve to call *them* chickenshit? Seriously… Dinner's fucking served with this guy._

"Is this fucker *serious,* Simmons?"

"—He's not making jokes. And if he is, he's bad at it." After hearing Babyface's monologue, it's safe to say that Major Lewis' men have taken on a dull job: Nothing's happening, and their charge is pulling ludicrous stunts, not to mention the strengthening stench of old flesh.

Still, this is a job; one they can't afford to fail.

"I'll return to my post. Keep your head up, Simmons."

"You too, Jones. 'May God be with you'."

A crack from Simmons: A rare occasion, but, when it *does* happen, he always delivers a punch that's sure to make you laugh.

Jones leaves for his post as he said, and it's a good thing he does. In less than two hours, the Highwaymen will dispatch for Sydney.

 _There's no telling *what* will happen while this moron is asleep. He gets to take a nap, while we're stuck babysitting his sorry ass._

 _I can't believe I was afraid of this guy… What a joke. I should shoot *myself*._

* * *

 _ **Ferryman Trading Co., Sydney**_

 _ **9 May, 2011**_

 _ **20:07—Major Lewis' Perspective**_

 **:-:**

 _I can't believe what I just heard. What does Babyface think this is?_

 _I'm beginning to think he's not taking this seriously._

The major's patience is wearing thin.

They've been stationed here for hours, and the only thing Babyface has done was give them a desultory pep talk. It was a nice gesture, but the way he spoke…

 _He made it seem like we're not strong enough to take on a few radicals. I've dealt with Methuselahs before; they're nothing special._

 _Humans that died and were reanimated as cyborgs… Humph. I'm not impressed._

The major leaves her post, firearm in hand. Her aura is stony, a strong foundation. But such strength crumbles under pressure.

She is a mortal woman, one that can take only so much.

Major Lewis may have survived encounters with Methuselahs, but against an actual nightwalker: This is something she's never done before. Sub-artificial lifeforms are one thing, but the *real deal*... That's a different story.

 _I talk a lot of shit with these guys, but it's 0 to 100 should we cross someone like Babyface. We'd be the 0; we wouldn't stand a chance._

 _Machines are machines, but natural-born killers… I *dread* thinking what would happen if the zombie turned on us: Eight bodies added to the obituary section. And after I said those things to Simmons, something like that…_

"—It's all a matter of time, but still…" Major Lewis wrestles with thoughts of the unexpected. The possibilities…

—She fears what may come from them.

The major approaches the nearest window to the east, and observes the moon; a sphere of the eeriest blood red.

"…something *terrible* is going to happen tonight."

Something *will* happen indeed, especially when the **Blood Moon** is concerned.

The universal symbol of the hunt… When a blood moon is high, anything can and will happen. With a setting like this…

 _—I smell death in the air._

 _…Huh. Looks like I better warn the others... Seeing this, go time is almost here._


	9. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (B-4)

**_E_** ** _n_** ** _R_** ** _oute to_** ** _B_** ** _elfast,_** ** _K_** ** _ilkenny_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _21:36—_** ** _S_** ** _tephen's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

It's been an hour or so since Natalie's traveling party left Dublin. Evening traffic is making their travels all the more extensive.

Stephen left his rental car with a local **Freeway Enterprise** branch, an Infinity-funded and owned car rental chain. He's now at the wheel of a 2010 Grand PM; his friends, Natalie and Theodore, are his passengers.

 _I told them. I did the best I could, and…_

 _—_ _those two…_

Before leaving, Stephen took a moment to speak with Stuart and Dawnavan. Their conversation was held in the privacy of the institution's break room.

A dimensional box of pure whites, silvers and tans: Not the most fitting set, considering what Stephen had to tell them… Perhaps under the stars; that would've been better. But the chances of rain were and still are high.

"Thanks for coming, Stu, Dawny…"

Stephen is normally boisterous and carefree; a walking beam of virile energy. At that moment, he was calm, warm and gentle, and his voice was soothing.

Always the assertive one, Stu approached. "What is it, Steph?

You're usually not like this. Is something troubling you?"

"—just an old paddy needing to make a confession…"

"Confession? Of what sort, old boy?"

"—the 'sort' that leaves me feeling weak. The sort that would normally be accompanied by tears, but vampires shouldn't cry.

If I did, I'd lose blood. That's not good. But I have to say this before I leave, so…"

 _It was hard. Not because of anything petty like human supposition._

 _No. It was because…I was afraid._

 _For more reasons than I could think of, I was afraid of what would happen._

Dawnavan saw Stephen's fists tighten; a battle against himself. The supportive one, Dawnavan approached the old vampire and took his right hand.

Stephen remembered that touch: A few years ago, Stephen debuted on the main roster as a heel character, and he was nervous because he had to hurt someone per word of their superiors… It was a challenging task, and, as he feared, his nightwalker strength cost a man his career.

Dawnavan came to him and held his hand…in the same manner: Gently.

"Steph, don't be afraid. Whatever happens, we won't hate you.

What you have to say…it must be beautiful, I just know it."

Stephen's a man from the old world, so romantic sayings are received well; the type of man that appreciates warmth and kindness.

 _I accepted their love: Stu stood there with that silly grin on his face, awaiting my answer. Dawny supported me, giving me something to hold on to._

 _So, I crossed my fingers…and told them the truth._

"...You didn't know how old I was until just recently. Personally, I hoped it would stay that way; me being the mouthy one that kept you two in line… But God saw a better route for us: The truth came forth just in time.

I…am a father; a dad. I'm also a husband; a provider, lover and supporter. Even after these things were taken from me, I protected them, stored them as memories in my heart… I sought a better route; one I found with Infinity. As a radical, I found family, friends, loved ones; everything that was taken from me…

—I now have these things again. Save a wife, of course. But even *that* has been covered: I've fallen in love with helping others. Along the way, should I find a reason to march again, I want you two there...because…"

Stephen faced his friends, his heart heavy and his eyes warm.

"—you two… *You* are my sons.

I love you as if you were my own; the spawn of my seed. Please, Stu, Dawny, say you'll love me back just as much."

 _They didn't need to say anything… Stu and Dawny embraced me; a gesture that said so much more than words ever could._

 _And I didn't cry. A father sheds tears, yes, but I don't have that luxury. I felt it though: The love of a child._

 _They're just sprogs to me… But I love them so much. I'd do anything for them, and I thought it best to let them know that._

 _It would've killed me—letting the truth simmer and not be said._

"Good form, pa. Thanks for always being there." That's all it took: Stu's approval; something Stephen occasionally gets, but this time around…it was special.

"Yes…A+ job, dad."

Dawnavan tightened his hug a bit, squeezing the love out of Stephen. And for the first time in a long while, the old vampire released a father's laugh.

It was a defining moment in their friendship.

 _That lifted my spirit so much. I still haven't stopped smiling… I can't stop; it feels too good: Knowing those sprogs accept me as a father figure._

 _The road to Belfast seems so much brighter now._

Natalie notices how happy Stephen looks. And like any friend, she takes a crack at him to break the silence.

"Well, well, Paddy. You *sure* are red in the face tonight."

"—Stop gawking at me, ya silly old bird."

"Ta-HA! You told them, didn't you?"

"As if I would tell you that. Mind your own business, Kate." Theodore giggles under his breath, remembering how carefree Natalie and Stephen act when they're together. The driver sees him laughing via the rear-view mirror, and calls him out. "And just *what the friggin' hell* are you titterin' at back there?

Don't make me park this thing. I'll kick your stony arse all the way to the Bell!"

Theodore teases him by feigning intimidation.

"No~! Honey, save me from the scary old man!"

"Why you…overgrown bum-suck! You just wait!" This laughter… This is what Stephen wants the most: Happiness, on and off the clock.

 _I love when things are like this: Everyone's smiling; so refreshing. Before anything else, I'm a father… And I have several heads to look after._

 _I'm…so happy._

 _But right now, I have more work to do. Here's hoping things always stay this way._

 _Should I lose any of these smiles…I don't know what I would do…_

* * *

 ** _En Route to Belfast, Kilkenny_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _21:50—D. Remedy's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

 _Three strong existences… They're coming, fast._

 _Looks like this is it._

Dead Motion knew the traveling party would take the road to Belfast from Kilkenny; it's the quickest route when traffic dies now. And considering how fast Stephen drives, catching up with the WWE shouldn't be too hard.

The sibling headhunters pull a daring stunt: D. Remedy walks forward and stands in the center of the road, a ghostly white territory spreading from his frame.

Stephen, Natalie and Theodore are instantly triggered!

"Shite!" Stephen is forced to hit the brakes just in time to avoid a collision!

Natalie closes her eyes and screams, holding onto the the car! Theodore also closes his eyes, but only for a few seconds… The car comes to a halt.

"I-Is it over…?"

"Aye, TJ. Good thing your paddy has a hard foot."

Natalie holds her unnerved heart, before noticing the reason for their sudden stop: A lone cloak and hood brandishing an ornate sword stands in their way.

"—Boys, I think we're in trouble."

Stephen and Theodore also notices them: The sibling headhunters… Stephen parks the car. Everyone then abandons the vehicle to confront the headhunters.

 _That was some crazy shit to pull. But it had to be done, and it worked: We got their attention… I'm sure they should know who we are._

"Good evening, Infinity. How's the trip to Belfast?"

To be asked something so easy-going after pulling a *stunt like that*...

Stephen snags D. Remedy by the collar! "You out of your mind, fella!?

I know you're our enemy, but what the FRICK WAS THAT!?"

He pushes the elder sibling away single-handedly, but D. Remedy quickly recovers and responds. "The best entrances get people rowdy.

And that's good, doctor…because *we* came to 'hang up your coat'."

Stephen realizes what D. Remedy is implying: They're here to kill him. Thus, he retreats and takes his place aside his fellow radicals.

 _I hesitated… It's hard. I don't know if I can kill him._

 _But I have to try. We're outnumbered three-to-two. Considering I'm the one pulling the strings here, might as well call it "three-to-one"._

Natalie ignites her hands with fuchsia-colored flames. Theodore crystallizes his arms and hands. Stephen's eyes turn completely green with a single blink, his hands seeping with a corrosive acid.

"You want my head, fella? *Come and get it*." The Irishman's inviting words burn the headhunters, just as much as his toxins as they meet the earth.

Theodore supports him. "But you'll have to deal with a 'triple-threat'."

"Best in the league. Can't you handle it, whippersnapper?"

Natalie never fails when her womanly touch is needed.

As expected from radicals: They operate as a team; their greatest strength is unity. Their unbreakable bond has sustained them for centuries.

 _They're *this* powerful, and they haven't even released their existences yet? What kind of monsters are we up against here?_

 ** _Keep it together, Rem. Remember: Together, we're unbeatable!_**

Li'l Thrill keeps his elder brother focused, strengthening D. Remedy's posture against a trio of seasoned radicals. **_Right. Thanks, li'l bro!_**

"Oh, trust me. I can handle it… We *both* can.

Unite, **Jagged Edge**!" D. Remedy finally makes an existential cry, releasing the surficial bounds of their power. Dead Motion's sync rate shoots sky high, inciting a typhoon from their frame that forces the radicals' defenses!

The rumors are true: Dead Motion is the strongest headhunter team employed by the church… Their existence is massive. The radicals are struggling just to stand!

"— **Storm Resonance**!" D. Remedy advances to deliver a decisive blow, Li'l Thrill's Cutting Edge ready and raring for the kill! "Die! **No Love**!"

 _We have to do this. No matter what, we *can't* back down now!_

 _…Everyone…_

 _—we're sorry. Please…please forgive us!_


	10. Act 7: Ain't No Crime (Finale)

**_E_** ** _n_** ** _R_** ** _oute to_** ** _S_** ** _ydney,_** ** _L_** ** _eaving_** ** _R_** ** _utherford_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:03—_** ** _O_** ** _ne's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Australia-United Kingdom relations are just a strong as ever. But Infinity owns so little of the commonwealth; Tasmania and numerous smaller islands.

The mainland mostly belongs to the church. Thus, traveling to and entering New South Wales requires stealth measures. Luckily, Methuselah units have inbuilt technology that enables such procedures:

At the moment, they're flying via jets installed in their boots, and they've employed a cloaking function to remain undetected. Whether by sound, heat or infrared sensory, no one will be able to track them down… Only the professor, Mr. Black, has the resources needed to keep in touch with his "kiddos".

 _Looks like we're on the highway to hell once again. But that's nothing new for an old dog like me. Most of my life, that's all I ever did; get into trouble._

 _…_ _Until *they* caught me…and had me killed._

* * *

 _ **Ending Theme: Love Is A Battlefield**_

 _ **Artist: Pat Benatar**_

* * *

 _Ferryman...I *hate* that name._

 _These people are monsters; the worst. No respect whatsoever… They'll slaughter families just to give their masters something to eat. Sickening!_

It's been a few minutes since the Highwaymen were dispatched. En route to New South Wales, unseen, unheard, undetectable, the Methuselah unit is led by One; their more-than-capable leader… His mind seems to have wandered into the past: A dark age, where many unspeakable events befell him in his former life.

 _Funny how shit flies when you come home. It was just another night; me up to no good, and wouldn't you know it…_

 _—_ _the things I did to help take care of myself. At one point, I was no different from the church: A crook if there ever was one; the bandit of bandits._

 _But I was just a kid. Still had so much to live for and—BOOM!—right square in the head… Talk about karma. Can't say I didn't deserve it._

"One, are you alright?"

Four addresses her leader, having noticed how troubled he looks. "You seem…tense… Thinking about the good ol' days?"

Two snickers under his breath.

"That's his daily routine. Leave him alone, alright."

"I didn't ask for your input, Two!"

"Simmer down, Jungle Jane."

That was a sharp comment from Two; one that sets Four into a mild rage. "Why you… Watch your mouth, Two! Nobody wants to hear your shit tonight."

Three seems entertained by his teammates' spat. But not enough to say anything, which is quite normal of him: Observant and sarcastic. He does, however, harbor concern for his leader as well. One is...normally…

 _I'm usually the talkative one; always got something to say. When I'm quiet, my team worries about me in their own little way._

 _Huh. These cowpokes don't know…ol' One got things together. I've been around the block long enough, so there's nothing to worry about. Just wish they'd trust me a little more… Maybe things wouldn't be so awkward._

—the heart of the Highwaymen. One keeps his team together.

He's the oldest, most experienced Methuselah. Cooperating with him is an honor to any of his peers. Two, Three and Four, despite their dysfunctionality, are kept solid by One's strength of character.

"Two, Four, stop arguing.

Two, I know you see me as a strong leader. Thanks, cowpoke. Your support always helps when this old dog's feeling down.

Four, you're caring and concerned; a real upstanding woman. It's pleasing to know there's good people in this big mold called 'Infinity'.

And Three, stop being messy. I can *feel* you grinnin' back there." Three looks away with foxlike expression, attempting to hide his face. To no avail, unfortunately: Two and Four *know* how sneaky Three can be.

To cover his tracks, the shrewd Three speaks… "A smile is a smile, One. Seeing my teammates' unity incites this.

Where's the harm in that? I wonder."

Despite his efforts, Two isn't easily moved.

"—Nice save, asshole."

"Yeah, *real* nice." Four isn't buying it either. This is a night when the Highwaymen are employed: Carefree, easygoing, and a bit standoffish.

 _Reminds me of my old posse back in the 1800s. We used to have plenty nights like this: Getting on each others' nerves, but enjoying it; every single moment._

 _It's been a long time since they were…_

 _—_ _naw, better not think about it. I'll start getting all rude-like with the cowpokes… Don't want them seeing me like that._

"Everyone, listen up: At the rate we're going, we'll be riding into the commonwealth by 23:00 sharp.

Three, you're our stealth; silence all sentinels with your blade.

Two, secure the ventilation systems. The less air a zombie has, the better.

Four, circulate your shock waves through the building. That'll destroy any and all backup security apparatuses.

Me, I'll handle the zombie. I'm the most experienced when it comes to dealing with dead scumbags like him. Plus…

—I've some unfinished business with the son-of-a-bitch. So, stay away from the main office… Things *will* get ugly, I promise you that."

 _It's pretty damn unfair; having them sort out the small things, while I take on the big boss. Makes me seem like an attention hog, but that's not the case._

 _Babyface is one *sick* bastard._

 _He's been playing games with people for centuries… I remember when I first met the zombie; cleared us out in one go. An entire saloon covered in blood… Then, the bastard took my woman and held her for ransom._

 _I did what has asked me… He didn't keep his promise: She was killed and I went some nights afterwards… I died. But I soon woke up again, and saw Mr. Black's hooded image looking at me from afar… That was *my* new beginning._

His teammates don't have to say a thing. One's so fired up for this mission; his silence confesses quite a bit: He can't *wait* to get his hands on Babyface.

"We've got you covered, One." For the first time, Two speaks supportively.

Three and Four nod agreeably.

Their understanding, their fellowship… "Thanks, cowpokes. That means a lot."

Babyface is among the A-class; an existential master. It's rumored that when the sun is out, Babyface's sync rate skyrockets…and he becomes an S-class nightwalker. Not to mention his existence, **Tender Lover** , is known for its unpredictability. Anything can happen; the worst should be anticipated.

 _I'm not holding back. Babyface ruined my life, and then he killed me… He's had it coming for decades now. So I need *all* the room I can get._

 _Soon as these guns start blazing, no one is safe._

 _…_ _This is *more* than a mission; this is personal…_

 _Babyface, better watch out. Security won't save you, not this time… So, hold onto your hat, partner…because…no matter what…_

 _—_ _*I'm gonna fill your rotted ass full-a lead, ya sick motherfucker*!_

* * *

 _ **~ To Be Continued ~**_

* * *

 **When the moon rises,**

 _Stephen, Natalie and Theodore are pit against Dead Motion: Sibling headhunters determined to liberate their tribesmen._

 _Meanwhile, the Highwaymen give Babyface and his task force a run for their money._

 _Dawnavan and I will begin training in the morning. But before we wake, a test like no other befalls us in our sleep._

 **Next time on The BLOOD Saga: NIGHT:**

 **:O:**

 **:O: Given A Chance :O:**

 **:O:**

 _The conquest for unity continues._


	11. A Special Moment With: Mr Black & Intro

**:O:**

 **:O:** **A** **S** **pecial** **M** **oment** **W** **ith…** **:O:**

 **:O:**

—Salutations, kiddos! Pull up a seat for the professor!

…Oi, there! It's me, Mr. Black, and I'm here to bring in the next act. But no Moment comes without a few add-ins, especially the announcements.

Speaking of "acts": Whad'ya think of the *last* one? Phew! That was *serious,* a bit *too* serious. But that's a good thing; didn't want to bore you will all the development. It was necessary though, introducing new characters and whatnot.

The old doctor, the boss lady, *and* the young father are about to go toe-to-toe with *the* Dead Motion. I've had the displeasure of facing those two in the past, and when I say "I almost didn't make it," I *really* mean it. Ol' Paddy's even pulling out the fundamentals: His existence, Green Day, gets *really* creepy when you get 'him fired up… As if that noggin of his ain't "fiery" enough. Shishishi!

Also, my kiddos are en route to Sydney to shut down the Ferryman Trading Co. for good. It's been a long time coming; Babyface *deserves* it, the sick little coward. Gives old-world gents like me a bad name he does… But I *do* feel sorry for those human soldiers. They deserve much better in life, *much* better.

Furthermore, our lads Stu and Dawny start their training in this act. I know someone of you are wondering "why" their role has been toned down. That's because, if this hasn't been said already, this is a fanfiction with a *h-u-g-e* cast; one that will keep expanding until we get to the *alternate* year of 2016. That's when BLOOD will come to an end…hopefully… Oi, you never know; some productions like Dragon Ball Z got a continuation: Dragon Ball Super. So who's to say there won't be more BLOOD after the 2016 season comes to an end?

If I have any say-so in it, there will be a spin-off. Maybe one starring myself or one of the other cast members; the ones that are still alive, that is… Hm? What, you thought we were *all* going to someone how survive all of this? No way! This is a war; people die, it just happens… Heh. Even *my* days are numbered.

Ah well, enough insensitivity. Here are the announcements for today:

7 April is World Health Day.

In 1948, the World Health Organization held the first World Health Assembly. The Assembly decided to celebrate 7 April of each year, with effect from 1950, as the World Health Day. The observance is held to mark W. H. O.'s founding, and is seen as an opportunity by the organization to draw worldwide attention to a subject of major importance to global health each year.

The W. H. O. organizes international, regional and local events on the day related to a particular theme. The observance is acknowledged by various governments and non-governmental organizations with interests in public health issues, who also organize activities and highlight their support in media reports, such as the Global Health Council. World Health Day is one of eight official global public health campaigns marked by the W. H. O., along with World Tuberculosis Day, World Immunization Week, World Malaria Day, World "No Tobacco" Day, World Blood Donor Day, World Hepatitis Day, and World AIDS Day.

This year, the theme of World Health Day is: "Halt the rise: Beat diabetes!" Mark your calendars everyone! As an old-world gent, I'm all about health, so do yourself a favor, and pitch in for your well-being.

Good job there, creator! You're such a nice lad; always thinking of others. But that's what happens when you've been around the block. Take it from Mr. Black: It's better to care than have bad vibes in the air. Shishishi!

We hope you're enjoying this volume so far. The new format really brings out the flavor of this fanfiction, as if it weren't crazy enough as it is. That and we've expanded some of the original storyline for your enjoyment:

Dead Motion are revisions of two antagonists from the 2011 version of TBS: Night. Considering this is a "reboot," there's no telling *who* will survive this encounter. In respect to how things are starting out, I must say, even a scientist like myself is on the fence; don't know *what* to make of it. But here's hoping it'll end with a serious *bang*. Wouldn't be a solid WWE fanfiction without a little action.

Also, you're probably wondering when *actual wrestling* will be in the mix. That'll come later. Remember: The WWE is jointly owned by Infinity *and* the church, and, if you can recall, the company's under hiatus until a few "things" are resolved. But expect some in-ring action by the middle or end of this volume.

That's all the time I have, so I'll conclude this here.

Cross your fingers, lads and lassies, and cheer for your favorite characters. The good guys aren't always going to win; keep that in mind. With that said, *anything* can and *will* happen from here on out. Shishishi!

This is the professor, Mr. Black. It's been fun, everyone, but I've a few kiddos to monitor. Don't think this is the last you'll see of me; I'll be back sooner than you think. Until then, keep your senses open to heaven, and let God be your guide.

* * *

 _ **Opening Theme:**_ _ **Heaven in the Hell**_

 _ **Artist: Mizuki Nana**_

* * *

 ** _Mullen Institute, Dublin_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _22:07—Stuart's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

It's gotten late. Thankfully, the rain hasn't returned yet. If it did, for some reason, the dreamy-eyed Stuart feels…as if something *terrible* will happen.

…What transpired earlier…what Stephen said to them… His words have yet to leave Stuart, mind, body and soul. Due to his violent past, Stuart's relationship with his family is strained to an extent. He retains belief that a miracle will restore their kinship, but that doesn't seem to be possible right now.

 _Crazy old ginger. How dare you do this to me: You've got my heart all warm now, so much that it hurt to see you leave._

 _You really touched us; Dawny hasn't smiled in his sleep before. Me… I'm usually a night owl. This is my time to think. And it seems the only thing on my mind…is whether or not you three make it back to Rutherford in one piece._

To propose fatherhood and have it accepted: That's a defining moment in any man's life; the right to be a mentor, a figure of influence. That precious moment in time strengthened their bond a great deal.

There was a time when Stuart thought himself a loner. But fate said otherwise: With time, he gained friends that became his chosen family. Their guidance and encouragement continues to mold him into an upstanding man.

He even found love that he *prays* is true: His first friend, Dawnavan. Together, they've walked a dangerous path; one that defies more than human logic and morality… In but a few hours, they will continue down this road, with high hopes of one day doing *something* to repay their friends' devotion.

 _We'll survive this, I know we will._

 _Our times together taught me something, Dawnavan as well: We're not alone. Before we were even born, you were fighting for us… I saw it all in a dream. When I was petrified in stone, I remember now… The Black Blood Rebellion:_

 _The church employed an assassin group against you, **The Newjacks**. Those monsters tore Rutherford asunder, but were no match for your unity. You defeated them one-by-one, risking your lives with every endeavor… It was a battle the world could never forget; the conceiver of your goal, universal love._

Stuart leaves his eyes from the darkened, cloudy sky, and turns his attention to the resting Dawnavan at his right… They're not sharing a bed, but that's nothing new; their relationship is innocent, if not a bit restricted. But that's the relieving thing about what they have: Stuart and Dawnavan don't require sex; they can wait until the right moment, and neither seeks fulfillment from anyone else.

Some might consider their relationship "ridiculous," but it's not. The strength of their love has kept them together, something only a few can say wholeheartedly. And *even fewer* actually have meaning behind their words.

Stuart didn't feel complete before he met this man years ago. It's funny how fate works its magic at the most unexpected moment… That word, "unexpected"...

 _That's the story of my life: Unexpected, everything, *especially* this._

 _…I…don't even know why I'm still awake. We have training at 07:00 sharp._

 _Dr. Lyte was kind enough to create a daily regimen for us, one fit for kings. You'd think the woman were preparing us for an all-out war. Then again, the way things are going…that may very well be the case._

Placing priority over personal feelings, Stuart slips into his bed, lies down and covers himself… For a few moments, his eyes remain glued on his sleeping boyfriend; a tranquil figure in his opinion.

"…See you in the morning, my love." Stuart whispers these words, which somehow reach Dawnavan's ears…and provokes a smile from him. This smile is transient, since Dawnavan is presently in the shadows of deep sleep.

Stuart soon closes his eyes, and eventually finds rest.

As he slips into unconsciousness, and the wonders of the human mind take over, Stuart recites an unheard prayer in his heart.

 _Father in heaven, I ask that you protect us always. Keep us in your arms, Lord, and never let go. Without you, we are lost._

 _Until our final hour comes, strengthen us before our enemies. Give us power amid weakness; wisdom amid ignorance; hope amid doubt; love amid hate._

 _In these turbulent times, I pray and believe. Amen._


	12. Act 8: Given A Chance (A-1)

**_E_** ** _n_** ** _R_** ** _oute to_** ** _B_** ** _elfast,_** ** _K_** ** _ilkenny_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:13—_** ** _T_** ** _heodore's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

 _We survived it… The headhunters came at us with everything they had._

 _But then…they…_

 _—_ _their existence…is a nightmare!_

Dead Motion is the strongest headhunter unit employed by the church; we should all be familiar with this by now. But these are not mere words: In one swing, via their Storm Resonance: No Love release, the siblings felled three radicals with centuries of experience under their belt.

At a sync rate of 76%, No Love cuts the wind and unleashes a storm likened to a category 4 tornado. Due to their nightwalker heritage, the siblings and their contracts can withstand the impact; the former much more than the latter.

Natalie, Theodore and Stephen can barely move. D. Remedy stands above them, blood dripping from Li'l Thrills Cutting Edge form.

"How did that feel, Infinity?

Hurt like hell, I'm sure. The eyes can only lie so much." The elder sibling speaks not in a taunting manner, but one that confesses a level of guilt; emotions bordering insanity. "Sorry about that. We wanted to finish you off quickly.

But don't worry, Infinity. Li'l bro and I will make the pain go away."

 _That attack managed to crack my skin. That blade he's holding…_

 _—_ _it can't be…silver?_

All pureblood nightwalkers are weak to silver: It has the potential to bind them, and, if applied correctly, can instantly kill them. Li'l Thrill's silver is of a unique quality, however, in that it can easily be imitated via transmutation. His advantage…is his blood: The Oti are hunters born and bred to slay other nightwalkers. Though they are monsters by heritage, they are mostly human; thus, they can implement purifying agents such as silver with ease.

When properly synced, the Oti can evoke the full potential of any agent, and use it as they please… D. Remedy and Li'l Thrill are at their strongest right now. The radicals' only hope of survival…as they are now…seems so very far away.

Theodore's instincts are pushing him to protect his loved ones. But he can't, his body is far too damaged for him to move. However, this isn't where his reserves end: If given enough time, he could transmutate his body and piece himself back together again. He'd need no more than three minutes to complete this process.

…The golem sees through their strategy… A hint of strength has returned to him. So, if he could just have a moment…perhaps…

 _—_ _I could end this._

 _Natalie and the doctor are too injured to continue on. They've lost a lot of blood; that puts everyone here in danger. This *must* be done before…those two…_

"You…should have…killed us...when...you had…the chance…" Theodore's words strike the sibling headhunters, reminding them of what happens when vampires lose too much blood. The golem isn't the problem; at any moment, Stephen and Natalie will *lash out* at Dead Motion in an attempt to consume their blood.

Stephen realizes something: Perhaps it was meant for him to leave his B pills behind. Right now, in this moment, their vampire instincts… They just might be…

"—It…*must*...happen…"

Natalie seconds. "Yes…Paddy…"

Together, the ancient vampires stand with ease, as if their wounds mean nothing… Their sync rate, their existential force; everything skyrockets, overwhelming the area with a *monstrous* territorial pressure!

 _D—Damn it! Their levels have…_

 _—_ _I've never felt this kind of power before!_

 _Their sync rates are…no less than 80—no, 85%? I can't tell… Either way, it's too much; the area's already destroyed, and our ride is totaled._

 _…_ _Any more damage, and…and…_

"S—Stop…please…" Unfortunately, Theodore's voice can't reach them. Natalie and Stephen have fallen into the darkness of hunger.

The speed of a monster is infamous: Before one knows it, a nightwalker can leave their sight; a method called **Stepping**. As speed is the focal point of Stepping, this method of movement is best characterized by how fast a monster can get from point A to point B in the least amount of Steps.

Training and skill are what determines how fast a Stepper can move. Ironically, Stephen and Natalie are out of practice, so their Stepping technique is a bit slow. But that only pertains to them…when they're *not* hungry. Dead Motion may have won the first round, but, the way things are looking…

 _—_ _They'll kill them to compensate for the blood they lost. Natalie, Dr. Farrelly… I've never seen them move *this fast* before._

 _…_ _They're… They're going to strike!_

Stephen forces D. Remedy to Step backwards, just in time to avoid his claws! The impact of Stephen's pursuit razes the earth, and expands a large wave of Green Day's toxin! Natalie follows-up by blitzing D. Remedy from the left with an inflamed claw across the chest, striking blood from the headhunter!

"Gah! Guh, ah—!"

So fast…D. Remedy can *barely* keep up with their movements. And they're not giving him a moment to rethink his strategy: The vampires continuously blitz him from different directions, punishing the headhunter until he loses hold of his little brother… Li'l Thrill is flung to the earth, some feet away from his brother.

"Know your place...AND BOW TO ME!"

Natalie rushes D. Remedy from behind, grabs his head with her right hand, and slams him into the ground, critically injuring his face! "Gah, UWAH—!"

Ever the curious old soul, Stephen fetches Li'l Thrill from the ground and examines him, capitalizing on D. Remedy's concussion… He sees nothing special about the weapon, and that's because the siblings' sync rate has drastically decreased. As a result, the doctor tosses Li'l Thrill to the ground.

 _Dr. Farrelly was sizing Li'l Thrill up. And he wasn't impressed; to him, the headhunter is nothing more than a worthless piece of scrap metal. Not to mention he wasn't even fazed by the weapon, which means…_

 _—_ _right…their sync rate… Dead Motion's sync rate nosedived, so, as they are now, they're no longer a threat. But…we can't count them out just yet: I'm getting bad vibes; the earth is… This formation…this isn't good!_

 _…_ _Thirty seconds…just thirty more seconds, and… I've got to hurry up!_

* * *

 ** _En Route to Belfast, Kilkenny_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _22:18—D. Remedy's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

Theodore is right to worry, and more than wise to hasten his transmutation: The eldest sibling headhunter has been *gravely* offended! D. Remedy felt Stephen's disrespect; to think so lowly of his younger brother, going so far as to toss him to the ground like yesterday's trash… This is *guaranteed* to anger D. Remedy, spiriting him away to rageful shores best left uncharted.

Their sync rate, their existential force, the vividness of their territory; everything increases beyond comprehension, sending a chill up the radicals' spines!

 _How dare he…li'l bro...to you, he…_

 _—unforgivable… Li'l Thrill, come to me. It's time to get serious!_

"Right, big bro. And I can handle it this time.

…So, let's do this. Together!" Li'l Thrill comes alive, generating tempestuous winds that repel the radicals, forcing them into prostration!

By his own will, the weapon returns to his elder brother, and surrounds him with a storm that instantly detonates an explosive white light!

—This light…is the transmutation of Li'l Thrill's form, which merges with his elder brother… D. Remedy's hands and forearms are equipped with gauntlets, his legs with full greaves; a dual-equipping… Dead Motion has discarded their blade to engage Stephen at full strength. A daring move, motivated by kinship.

D. Remedy stands boldly, intimidatingly; like a malevolent black phantom cursing those who have wronged him in his former life. His eyes fixate on Stephen alone, completely ignoring the onlooking Natalie and Theodore.

"The others mean nothing to me, doctor. We came here to kill *you*.

…I've grown tired of horsing around.

If your friends get involved, I'll kill them, and I'll make you watch me do it. It's only fair, especially after what you just did to Li'l Thrill."

Stephen realizes how serious D. Remedy has become. To push his existence to this level: The elder sibling isn't holding back this time. "Then perhaps I should apologize to your little brother… Sorry about that.

I'm still hungry though. And I'm a greedy old man, so…I ask that you allow Theodore to take you away from this place, Kate." Natalie starts to protest, but Stephen halts her with strong tone. "I said GO! I ain't hearing your gob, Kate.

—Not tonight… Isolate yourself and behave until I can get to you."

Theodore stands, having restored his body well enough to implement his existence: With enough concentration, at no more than a 30% sync rate, the golem transmuates their damaged vehicle, himself and Natalie into the purest diamond. In seconds, they merge with the earth, and make a quick escape.

Above all things, Natalie and Theodore trusts Stephen's abilities as a nightwalker. There's no doubt in their heart, he'll come back alive.

Stephen looks up to the sky, and notices something… "The moon's coming out."

Yes, the clouds are beginning to part.

The blood moon's crimson light graces the earth, and a passing wind blesses the battlefield… It's majestic, too beautiful to put into words: The symbol of the hunt recognizes their killer instinct, and wishes them well amid their contest.

"Eh, sprog…"

"What is it, doctor?"

"—ever wondered what hell is like?" That's a sudden question to ask. But D. Remedy isn't fooled or intimidated by it.

"This world *is* hell, doctor. We open and close our eyes to it every day, hoping it treats us better the next time around.

I don't have to 'wonder' about a damn thing. And that's bad because I know, without the shadow of a doubt…how seriously *fucked up* this world really is."

That answer…seems to be exactly what Stephen wanted to hear… He lowers his head, and meets his eyes with the darkness of D. Remedy's hood.

"...Then...what I'm about to do to you, sprog…shouldn't scare you at all." A glint of bloodlust emits from the old vampire's eyes, provoking D. Remedy's defenses.

 _Intimidation tactics? Humph._

 _We don't have *time* to be afraid. This is for the tribe; to ensure their existence in this world… That's why we *can't* be scared. No matter what._

 _Li'l bro…it's time. Let's give this old-timer a true death!_


	13. Act 8: Given A Chance (A-2)

**_T_** ** _he_** ** _F_** ** _itzwilliam_** ** _H_** ** _otel,_** ** _B_** ** _elfast_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:21—_** ** _N_** ** _atalie's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

The Fitzwilliam Hotel, sponsored by Infinity:

This is the haven Theodore chooses for his beloved girlfriend. Their status gives them immediate overnight admission and stay, free of charge.

It's dangerous for Natalie to be around anyone right now. Having lost so much blood, her will as a lady keeps her from attacking Theodore… The urge is strong, very strong. But to drain her own lover: That…she will *not* allow to happen.

Thankfully, Natalie has a special healing factor that doesn't require blood consumption; a gift from her contract. Her flesh is recovering, but, without the proper amount of blood, it's only a matter of time before she succumbs to her hunger. When that happens…she fears…with all her heart…

 _We're not safe around each other._

 _His blood…isn't something I should drink…_

 _…_ _One sip and...I'd be done for…_

—the consumption of dry blood.

All artificial lifeforms, unhealthy humans and famished nightwalkers have it; a substance that fatally poisons a vampire… Natalie fears her bloodlust may drive her to pursue Theodore's blood out of desperation.

In this cold, dark room where they've taken sanctuary, she may very well drive her fangs into his body and suck him until she's had her fill. But afterwards, Natalie would need to undergo a major surgery: Her body would no longer be able to tolerate her own blood, give or take a few days… Without surgery, Natalie would succumb to blood poisoning within a week…or maybe even less than that.

"...It…is not…a good idea…for you…to be around…me…" The hunger is setting in, and the only thing Natalie sees…is Theodore's veins transporting blood. From the capillaries to the heart, what she sees is artificial; it isn't the type of blood she should be craving, but Natalie can't help herself.

Fortunately, she's a lady of strength; thus, the vampiress sits on their hotel bed and holds onto the sheets…so hard that she nearly bruises her palms.

"You won't be able to puncture my shell as you are now. And you can't come anywhere near me, not with the measures I have taken."

Theodore turns and gazes out their hotel window.

He seems confident, so arrogant that is pisses Natalie off. But as she pays close attention to her surroundings, she notices something: Theodore surrounded their bed with a field of cubic zirconia; thin enough to allow the circulation of air, but enchanted with existential force strong enough to repel a vampire.

The act happened in the blink of an eye. Transmutation so quick that even a master like Natalie couldn't detect or keep up with it.

 _He's protecting the both of us. TJ pushed himself to create this barrier, ignoring his still injured body… He's suffering, and he doesn't want me to see his face._

 _That *idiot*! What is he trying to prove!?_

 _…_ _When he's like this…it pisses me off… But I love him, and he knows that. We all do…and that's why he pushes himself so much._

"The doctor should be done soon. I have enough existential force to confine you for an hour and a half. So...so, until he arrives…

—I have to hold out. The last thing…I want…is to see you…like *that*…"

Theodore's pain, watching him collapse onto his knees, suffering for her: Natalie hasn't seen someone do so much since…back then, during the Revolution. The sacrifices her friends and loved ones made… It wrenches her heart to see Theodore like this, as if her heart hasn't been strained enough as of late.

"...TJ...you don't…have to do this… Don't…risk your life…for me…"

"Be quiet, Katherine! You...are going to be...my wife someday...so…

—I have to start now… I…must learn strength…more than I already have… And strength comes with suffering…so if I can't…tolerate this pain…"

The love in his voice makes her remember why she took him in the first place: Theodore is a man who loves beyond words, beyond expression. He'd gladly put his life on the line to ensure everyone's safety… He's so courageous and devoted that he's stupid. But this… *This* is the power of his love.

"TJ, please…stop… Just stop it…"

The golem closes his eyes, and rationalizes amid his sacrifice. "I could take you to the local hospital; it's funded by us, after all. I could also call for backup.

But that would only endanger everyone.

In your current state, you'd slaughter everyone in your vicinity and tarnish our reputation… And...singlehandedly…*destroy…everything you've worked for*."

 _I've never heard him speak so passionately before._

 _…_ _Theodore…at this rate…_

"I…could rebuild it again…from the ground up… TJ…don't kill yourself for me!"

Hearing Natalie's pain, her worry and her fear: Theodore knows what he's doing is foolish, and he feels guilty for troubling her.

So, as her lover, the golem must ease Natalie's heart.

"Katherine, calm down… I can rebuild myself, but it would take some time. The kind of alchemy my creator used: Even if my body shatters into a million pieces, I'd still find a way to put myself back together again.

I…*am* the Philosopher's Stone. Killing me requires a power equal to or greater than myself… Dead Motion couldn't kill me. So if ending me presented *that much* of a challenge to them, the doctor has already won this battle."

 _I'm more than certain, Paddy will defeat Dead Motion. When he's *that* angry, there's no stopping that man._

 _TJ trusts him, and so do I. Of that…there is no doubt._

 _But what TJ's doing right now… No. I have to trust *the both* of them._

 _TJ is one half of the unstoppable Hurricane. His existence is strong enough to resist Dead Motion's attack, so something like this…won't be the end of him. Therefore, I shouldn't worry; that would only trouble him._

"...I…have received…your love... Thank you…you idiot…"

Ironically, at the moment, Natalie is expressing her love as well: The strength to trust her loved ones, follow her heart, and face danger straight in the eye.

No matter how quiet this moment is, Natalie and TJ are a danger to each other…and themselves. But through it all, they're fighting; resisting the urge to concede, to give in, to surrender to that which makes them weak.

In this moment, their greatest enemy…lies in their hearts.

"You're welcome…Honey…

—I promise… I won't…give up…no matter what…"

"Yes… And…neither will I…" Resources are limited, and spirits are strained more and more by the second. A battle against time and soul ensues.

In silence, Natalie and Theodore pray their willpower endures.

 _We…can't give up… For everyone's sake, we *have* to survive this!_


	14. Act 8: Given A Chance (A-3)

**_M_** ** _ullen_** ** _I_** ** _nstitute,_** ** _D_** ** _ublin_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:30—_** ** _D_** ** _awnavan's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

The mind is a curious thing: Thoughts, memories, dreams, the process of knowing; it contains so many wonders. Beautiful, mysterious, yet so very strange.

In his dreams, Dawnavan remembers…the field of anemones.

He would always go there when the sun was shining.

At the time, his heart was broken, and was breaking still. He had little hope for the world; thus, he became cynical of everyone, including himself.

 _I hated myself. And I still do._

 _I hated everyone…so I chose solitude. I made that decision…because..._

 _—_ _because of… Her, or at least that's what I *want* to believe._

Dawnavan told Stuart everything about his former life. Everyone else, they know only so little about him; a superficial bond… But he wants to tell them.

Dawnavan wants them to know the depth of his pain: How lonely he was back then, how he hoped to find those that could understand him, and how he desperately fought to keep his mother alive.

Above all secrets, he wants to tell them how his father…was killed right in front of him, and what he did to save his own life.

"I…remember now… It's coming back to me.

—I was…born a monster. An eater…of vampires.

It's just as N'Dour said. But why are these memories returning to me now?

So *many* of them…my head…" Image after image, his memories are freed from their existential bounds. The block his uncle Alexei placed on his mind… Its effects have drastically weakened, at an opportune moment no less.

 _Back then…when I first turned… My blood…_

His mind embarks on a trip into the past: 7 November, 1992.

 **Noah James Crowley** took his son, Dawnavan, out on the town for a post-birthday celebration. Noah was a military man, so his family lived on a base on the outskirts of Wellington, New Zealand:

 **Ft. Vogue** , their home at the time.

The Crowley family had grown accustomed to the harbor city. It was all Dawnavan knew, but his father and mother, **Sheila Faye** , were originally from Senegal… They moved and changed their names for personal reasons.

 _We were "being chased by bad people," or so my father told me._

 _It was scary. Any situation like that would scare a child… And so I clung onto my parents as any child would. With them, I felt safe._

 _But that all ended…on that night._

The "bad people" haunting his memories, vampire locals employed by the church; a gang of newbloods granted power from the Nightlord's existence… After leaving the city fair, the newbloods attacked Noah, and used Dawnavan as a bargaining chip: Sacrifice himself to the Nightlord, or his son…would be killed.

"Father…!" Noah heard his son, and wanted to help him. But he couldn't; the newbloods were too powerful, all thanks to the Nightlord's gift.

To save his son, Noah made the ultimate sacrifice… "...I'm sorry…

…Please…don't hurt my son… I…concede…"

With those words, Noah's spirit was consumed by the Nightlord's existence.

And Dawnavan… "No… No, FATHER…!"

 _I saw my father die. That image, it…_

 _—_ _it detonated something in my heart._

 _The heat, rising higher and higher. I felt myself being consumed by rage… And before I knew it…that "other" me…escaped… There was…nowhere for them to run._

 **Kresnik** : Those who have been blessed by witches, humans given shamanistic powers. As such, they are hunters of nightwalkers; more specifically, vampires.

Kresniks shapeshift, via a contract, into the form of their spirit animal, and their existential force is an empty white…

"F-Fa…ther… FATHER…!"

Dawnavan's contract lies with his ancestry: His blood.

And his spirit animal…is a vampire bat.

"—Embrace… **Crossroads**!" When the child activated his existence, and his territory spread, it was all over for the newbloods...in the blink of an eye.

 _…_ _My blood...consumed them… My existence ate them alive._

 _I felt them enter my body._

 _It was warm, and it made me feel good, but… But I hated it. I hated myself because…I'm a monster… A goddamned monster, I shouldn't exist!_

"Uncle Al, Mr. Black… They saved us…" Dawnavan clutches the grass at his side in tears, broken by his memories. "Mother… She got sick because…her blood was too strong for her, and… I blamed myself for it. This *damned lineage*…because of…"

Dawnavan remembers…and he wish he hadn't.

He killed those newbloods to avenge his father, Noah. Alexei, his uncle, placed a memory block on his mind to control the beast inside… Shortly afterwards, his mother, Sheila, went through a serious battle with their lineage. A meeting with the Nightlord was what made her ill. And no matter what was done, Sheila was fated to die… It was payback for Dawnavan's defense of his father.

"She died…because of me...because I…

—I hate myself…so much… I wish…I WISH WAS NEVER BORN!"

The pain, the agony of existence: All nightwalkers feel it. Whether born or turned, nightwalkers wish for death more than anything. Such is the cruelty of their powers, which are ironically named after the one thing they despise the most.

Suddenly, a few cracks in the grass capture Dawnavan's attention.

"—You shouldn't feel that way."

"—!? Th-That…voice…" He looks over his shoulder, to see…himself.

But this "other" Dawnavan, he seems much darker, more sinister.

"Hello, me. Still wallowing in self-pity?"

Dawnavan stands, turns and faces his "other" self. Shock, confusion, outrage, fear, curiosity: He feels so many emotions that he's beyond words.

Expression itself seems so far away…so distant that…

 _My heart is pounding. Is this for real?_

 _No, wait…this is a dream, nothing more than a dream._

 _But the memories, everything I remembered… Those were real; there's nothing "dreamy" about what I just saw: The nightmare of my reality…my existence._

"Dawnavan, your power…"

"—!?" The "other" self awakens him from deep thought.

"—you can save everyone. Just as your ancestors saved their people.

And before you ask, I *am* you… Another side of your heart."

That's a very eerie thing to say: The "other" self claims to be "another side" of Dawnavan's heart. But it seems…unsettling, almost frightening.

"Another side, you say? What 'side' are you talking about?"

"—Fight me, Dawnavan. Through battle, you'll learn the answer." With an extending and opening of its left hand, the "other" self is surrounded by a geyser of blood, which endures for a few moments.

Then, the geyser disperses and reveals its true form: An anthropoidal black vampire bat; a total contrast to what Dawnavan saw in his memories.

This monster, a Kresnik, is a thing of nightmares. Dawnavan has never before seen a more frightening creature than this.

 _This thing…is *me*?_

 _…_ _I see… This creature…is what I try hiding from others._

 _How ironic. Right before we start training, something like *this* happens… But I have to face it. This monster…*is* me... The antithesis of my heart._


	15. Act 8: Given A Chance (A-4)

**_M_** ** _ullen_** ** _I_** ** _nstitute,_** ** _D_** ** _ublin_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:36—_** ** _S_** ** _tuart's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Irony, a term that also pertains to Stuart. At the moment, he, too, finds himself in a familiar place in his dreams: The mysterious castle rooftop from before.

How strange… It's as if this location has been etched into his mind. For some reason, he feels a connection with it, as if this scene…is where he belongs.

 _Night after night, weeks on end; I'm always here. I've a mind to contact the "in-dream realtor," and complain about their high-handed marketing skills._

 _This is where "that person" always appears: The man that shoots blades from his hands, ripping me to shreds in an instant… I'll be *damned* if I let it happen again. Call me stubborn, call me stupid… But I'm tired of losing to a shadow._

He looks up and observes the cold, dark and stormy night sky.

Nothing is different, aside from the absence of rain. But the sky, the surrounding scenery, everything; this cruel picture… Stuart's unsure what to make of it.

He *does* feel a connection with what he sees, but it's superficial: This dark scenery calls out to him, silent and unheard… Stuart *swears* he hears the cries of hundreds and *hundreds* of people, haunting him from every direction. A sound only he hears…that only he can receive and understand.

"Save us, milord!"

"They're killing us!"

"Why? Why!?"

"—Why have you forsaken us, **Count Orlok**!?"

 _Count…Orlok? Who…_

 _—_ _who on earth is *that*?_

 _Wait…that name… Can it be?_

Stuart recalls his love for older films:

"Nosferatu" is a 1922 German Expressionist horror film; an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker's "Dracula"... Names and other details were changed because the Film Arts Guild could not obtain the rights to the novel. Thus, "vampire" became "Nosferatu," and "Count Dracula" became "Count Orlok".

Stoker's heirs sued the company over the adaptation, and a court ruling ordered that all copies of the film be destroyed. However, a few prints of Nosferatu survived, and the film came to be regarded as an influential masterpiece of cinema. On 3 June, 1929, the film was released in the United States, where it instantly became a success… If the person these voices are beckoning is Count Orlok, then they're calling for a revised version of a fictional character.

 _That's ridiculous. Utterly absurd, calling for someone that's…_

 _—_ _a person that doesn't even exist._

 _But the way these voices cry, it's as if they owe him their lives. It's sad… These voices, I can see images: Hundreds of people in an old town, suffering, being slaughtered by vampires, ghouls and goblins._

 _This "Count Orlok" that doesn't exist…he… He's sleeping… No, he's dead, sealed tightly in a coffin with a stake driven through his heart._

"Holiness! Please… Save us!"

"Are you not the Nightlord? Isn't there anything you can do!?" Stuart holds his head and collapses onto his knees, overwhelmed by the images of death.

"Count Orlok! No…no, help us…!"

He's crying… These people are being eaten alive, calling for a creature of great power and influence…who has already been killed. Even to the bitter end, they believe their lord will save them… To no avail, unfortunately.

Amidst it all, Stuart notices a figure standing alone, shrouded in the darkness of the room where Count Orlok's body is sealed. This figure is burly, well-defined and dominant in appearance; a monster of a person.

And yet, this figure seems more inviting than it is frightening.

"How sad, but you became *much too* close to them.

Your time has run its course. *I* will take over from here.

Rest in peace...Father…"

 _Who is this man? Why…is he…smiling?_

 _He's laughing… Did he do this…to his own father?_

 _No more. I can't stand another moment of this… To kill your father because of something positive: *Despicable*! I will see no more of it!_

"This is our lineage, stained by blood." A curious case of déjà vu: Stuart just heard his own voice speaking to him, amid a crack of thunder.

The voices and images have yet to leave his mind, but this voice… He stands, looks to the west, and notices a familiar image.

The person standing there… "You…are…me?"

—yes, it's Stuart himself. Irony, in every sense of the word.

"Salutations to myself. I would address you as 'Stuart,' but that isn't your real name. At least not the one your fathers chose for you."

"'Fathers'… What are you saying?"

"Did you not see it? Are you slow to catch up, scion of love?"

To be told your name isn't *real,* and that you should be addressed differently: That's a rather strange thing for someone to say.

Stuart wrestles with what to make of this.

"Scion of love…"

He gives his "other" self his attention. "Yes?"

"—good, very good. You accept *that* much at least."

"It's something I've heard in the past, in my dreams and in reality.

'Scion of love;' I *hate* that term.

But when I think about it, I do have a big heart. So, I tolerate it… Until I recall the tragedies associated with it. Then, things become complicated." The "other" self tilts its, amid a strike of lightning that reveals a bit more of its image.

This version of Stuart is much "scarier" in appearance:

Hair whiter than snow, much longer than normal.

Eyes red like sunlit rubies.

Fingernails that have extended into beastly claws.

Skin untouched by sunlight; pigmentation of the deadest grey.

If Stuart looks closer, he can see fangs hidden behind the creature's lips. Looking into the "other" self's eyes presents a challenge for him… Stuart can't do it; he can't look this creature in the eyes. It's too much…seeing himself like that.

 _That…can't be…me… Me, a creature like that? I've been fascinated with monsters since I was a child, but seeing myself as one… It hurts._

 _My heart…feels like it's breaking._

 _This creature is indeed beautiful, but frightening and sad as well._

"Afraid of yourself, scion of love?"

"No…"

"Then why are you hiding your eyes?"

"—because it's too much. It's too much, goddammit!" Stuart realizes what this means, and he's trying his very best to deny the truth.

The dead count, Orlok… He saw his face in his mind:

Stuart looks just like Orlok, as did Lord Frederic. Only Count Orlok was harrier and more conservative in appearance, donning the robes of the age.

"Scion of love, your birth was needed. You and your great-grandfather are reincarnations of the first Nightlord."

"Re…incarnations…?"

"Yes, scion of love."

"Please. Call me Stu—"

"That is *not* your na—"

"*It's the only name I know, alright*!" Stuart snaps so desperately that his "other" self closes its eyes. From pity no doubt, and these expressions only serve to frustrate Stuart even more. "My name…is Stuart Alexander Bennett.

And those visions… *You* showed me them, didn't you?

You're another of the church's toys, sent to kill me in my sleep, *aren't you*?"

The "other" self smiles.

Winds from the stormy skies brush the scene, adding some majesty to the darkness about them… The sky thunders once again.

"That…is not your real name."

"—!?" Stuart wants to thrash the "other" self for repeating those words.

"Do you hate yourself that much, scion of love?"

"...I…hold *some* animosity towards myself, yes."

"I can tell. Self-discovery seems to be too much on you.

But if you fight me, together…we can take the first step…as one." The "other" self inaudibly spreads a familiar territory from its frame: A metaphysical, solar air of the purest gold. Stuart's battle instinct lifts him, tightens his defenses and readies his mind for whatever the "other" self has for him. "Scion of love, I will help you remember who you are…and what you are fated to become.

It is written, your *true* destiny in this world.

You are more important than what you *think* you are. And I've grown tired of watching you live this 'human's dream'… I can no longer stand to see you fall short of what you should already have by now.

Scion of love, please…*fight* with everything you have. Don't hold back!"

 _Oh, I'll "fight" alright. If this creature wants my best, then so be it._

 _I've never backed down, I've never held back, and I won't start now… I have people waiting for me on the other side. So…so…_

 _—_ _lesson start. Class is now in session!_

Irony couldn't be any more crueler: Dawnavan and Stuart are faced with antithetical versions of themselves. But these incarnations are confusing… They pose as violent beings, yet their intentions are virtually instructional.

Amid their struggles, Stuart and Dawnavan hold suspicions about the antitheses. They also wrestle with fact, fiction and belief: What is real, what is a lie, and what to make of everything they've come to accept in their lives.

* * *

 **:O:**

 **:O: The BLOOD Saga: Night :O:**

 **:O:**


	16. Act 8: Given A Chance (B-1)

**_En Route to Belfast, Kilkenny_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:48—_** ** _S_** ** _tephen's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Nearly half an hour has passed since Stephen and Dead Motion began their contest, and it seems neither is winning the battle against their stamina.

Stephen is a vampire. Without the proper amount of blood, he'll succumb to more than hunger; he will die from excessive blood loss.

D. Remedy is a Deathscythe, a nightwalker that's mostly human. Stephen has given him quite the beating thus far, and his mettle has been justly returned.

They're powerful, and, as they've concluded…Stephen and D. Remedy are equals in the field of battle: The vampire's strength, speed, experience and parasitic existence have induced injuries on D. Remedy that would kill a normal man. The Deathscythe's intellect, cunning, killer instinct and cooperation with his younger brother have broken the weakened Stephen. These two…are evenly matched.

 _This is indeed a setup._

 _If I'm having trouble standing, I know Kate will slip up any second now… She's never been good at fighting her hunger. As for me…_

 _—_ _I'm still nothing more than a beast. The way things are looking, it's only a matter of time before I blackout, and…and… These sprogs aren't safe around me._

 _But that's nothing new. Not after what they did._

Stephen can smell blood from his distance, and he also hears sirens.

The local authorities have been notified of the massacre at Queen's University. A thorough examination reveals that most, if not all, of the Queen's Square residents have been decapitated beyond recognition… Queen's Square was Infinity-funded, Infinity-owned. All because of what happened at Wonderland…

"...That look…

—you sense it, don't you?" D. Remedy averts Stephen from his thoughts, earning a fierce glare in the process. "Yeah, you do. I can tell… *Good*."

D. Remedy smiles…and laughs.

In response to D. Remedy's ridicule, Green Day's toxin comes alive: It dances round Stephen's standing body, excited by his heightening anger.

"...You… *You did that*!?

You killed all those people. And for what?

Let me guess: They died because the Old Man's theme parks are history. Carousing and snacking on human body parts… Unforgivable… You…

—sick… *You're all sick in the head*!" Uncontrolled laughter… Stephen's laughing, but this isn't a "happy" laugh. The doctor is livid!

No. He's beyond even that… Stephen is fighting a personality that hasn't been seen since the Rebellion: A vampire's urge to kill any and all in their midst. The predator that sleeps soundly in his old heart.

 _I…want to… I...I… I…will kill them…_

 _I will kill them... Blood, death, destruction… I must…_

 _—_ _kill them…kill them…kill them… Kill them, kill them, kill them, KILL THEM!_

"...Infect… **Green Day**!" With these words, the superficial bounds of Stephen's existence are released, casting an eerie jade territory from his frame.

This territory… It's hot, muggy and stinging to D. Remedy; a dreadful sensation that makes his flesh feel as if it wants to melt from his body. But it's not; this territory is doing nothing of the sort…

"My…pores…are on fire…" —Green Day's territory is agitating D. Remedy's pores, creating the illusion that his flesh is melting. As such, staying within its bounds is causing his flesh to burn, rash and itch beyond comparison.

"This pain is *nothing* compared to what you did to my people.

…Heh. Bet you're wondering what's going on… Fine, I'll tell you.

The laws of my existence are eerie: As long as you're in here, you'll feel its 'sting;' my toxin infecting your flesh. Pretty soon, it'll infect your head. And then..." The vampire Steps forward and thrashes D. Remedy with a fist to the solar plexus!

"Guh, ah—!"

The Deathscythe is launched away, but, unlike last time, D. Remedy is able to keep his younger brother near him due to their synchronization… In the next few moments, he reflects on what they've done: Murdering dozens of people, families, homes, workers and misfortunate…because they were ordered to do so.

As a result, the head they must claim has been taken to a dark place.

Becoming one with the suffering of his people, Stephen has activated Green Day and all its nightmares; an existence that can kill or heal: The gentle healing fluids, or the deadly toxic venom… Dead Motion's actions have called for the latter.

* * *

 _ **En Route to Belfast, Kilkenny**_

 _ **9 May, 2011**_

 _ **22:53—Li'l Thrill's Perspective**_

 **:-:**

 _We didn't want to do it. Killing those people… They didn't deserve to die._

 _I don't blame the doctor for being pissed._

 _He has every right to snap: That many heads, and they did nothing but shut down a place that should've been gone a *long* time ago… There's no excuse for what we did; order or not, it was inhumane and we deserve his worst._

 ** _I know what you're thinking, li'l bro… Not now. Keep it together._**

Considering the importance of their sync rate, D. Remedy's thoughts rejuvenate Li'l Thrill's battle instinct… He's right: If either one of them loses sight of what must be done, Stephen will overpower them just as he did a second ago. **_Thrill, listen to me. What I'm about to say is important:_**

 ** _The doctor has a heart for the people. You saw it, right?_**

 ** _So, if we take this fight to the city, he'll concede. We'll take someone from the city as a hostage, he'll have no other choice but to surrender._**

It's a cowardly thing to suggest, but D. Remedy is right: Stephen is chasing them down, Stepping at untraceable speeds. The thought of his people suffering has awakened a rageful bloodlust; his existence seeps with killer instinct.

Li'l Thrill now understands what his elder brother means.

"...Fine. Let's head back to the city."

 ** _Alright. Wing Edge: Breaker Dance! _**Dead Motion's sync rate works a miracle: In thought alone, D. Remedy transmutes Li'l Thrill's greaver mode into full boots that instantly enable a jet propeller-boost from the soles of his feet.

Li'l Thrill's greaver and boot mode are collectively known as "Wing Edge". The "Breaker Dance" release serves as a modifier, which enables a serious increase in speed, dexterity and agility, as well as the ability to fly… Using this existential release, D. Remedy is able to give Stephen a thrilling chase.

"Where do you think *you're* going?

Running away from me… You're pissing me off, sprogs!" The vampire Steps even faster, proving that, even though he's spent some time in the operation room, he isn't out of practice; he's just as fast, fierce and deadly as ever.

D. Remedy snickers. "Good! Get mad, old man!"

"Keep talkin', sprog. I'll catch you…and suck you dry!"

"That just sounds *weird* coming from you, idiot!"

"I'm not 'weird,' sprog… I'm hungry. Real hungry!" In the blink of an eye, Stephen closes space with D. Remedy, intercepting him from the left with an acidic claw. Dead Motion is forced into a close-range contest, exercising their intellect to the fullest, keeping space between them and Stephen's hands.

Green Day's toxin… One touch, and they'll suffer greatly.

 _So powerful… His existence could melt us both in an instant. It's a good thing Rem knows what he's doing; if he didn't, we'd be dead by now._

 _And he's smart, really smart: The doctor will definitely surrender if we go there. We just have to *make* it to Belfast. If we can do that, then…_

D. Remedy uses his head, balls his left fist, and… " **Strike Edge: Dead Storm**!"

—with a single punch, blasts a fierce tornado from his gauntlet.

Stephen is forced to exercise some good, old-fashioned dexterity…by placing his feet on the ground and Stepping high into the air!

Li'l Thrill's full gauntlet mode, "Strike Edge," enables unrestricted control over the air. With a simple punch, clawing, or swaying of the limbs, D. Remedy can create tornadoes strong enough to level cities. "Dead Storm," while powerful, isn't even the beginning of what can be done…

—but that will have to wait until later.

Li'l Thrill rallies his elder brother. "Run, Rem. Run, now!"

 ** _Alright, you don't have to yell at me._** Despite his nonchalant behavior, D. Remedy turns on the jets and flees into the distance…heading straight for Belfast.

Dead Motion's retreat causes their storm to break.

Stephen halts for a second in mid-air, making good use of his abilities. Unlike Dead Motion, he doesn't need anything to fly: The air itself is naturally his to control, and he does it quite well… As a matter of fact, he could have ripped through the headhunters' Dead Storm with his bare hands, but he chose to fool them by mimicking their cowardly behavior… A feat that makes him smile.

"Run, run, run, but you cannot hide; not from this old paddy.

I'll let those sprogs believe they've the upper hand on me…for now."


	17. Act 8: Given A Chance (B-2)

**_A_** ** _pproaching_** ** _F_** ** _erryman,_** ** _S_** ** _ydney_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _22:59—_** ** _T_** ** _hree's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

The skies of New South Wales are quiet tonight. Amid this silence, the Highwaymen enter Sydney undetected…just as they had planned.

From their view in the sky, the city's nightlife is just as vibrant as ever: Locals, commuters and tourists alike paint the night with adventure; the reckless kind. But such foolishness is expected from a city overrun by Gideonites.

 _Down, down, down… Will the fall never come to an end?_

 _I say "yes," but fate says "no"._

 _…_ _I wonder how many miles they've fallen by now. Perhaps to the center of the earth… Yes, that would explain their ignorance._

Three's artful smile hides an excess of witty thoughts about the people of Sydney. A stress reliever on his part; he hates killing, though his ability with a sword far surpasses even the most experienced cleric.

Having arrived seconds before they predicted, the Methuselah squad retains confidence in their unique talents. They're a demolition unit, destroyers best employed when dealing with tasks such as this one: Babyface has hired a special forces unit to protect him; thus, bigger and badder soldiers are in order.

Two's existential head-up display receives a signal. "I'm sensing an A-class existence fifty seconds to the west…

—the zombie… He's there. Proceed with caution."

"Nice work like always, Two." Four is impressed by his professional behavior, which makes Two smile. As the squad's best tracker, this is nothing to him. But Two is the kind of person that doesn't like being praised; it embarrasses him.

"...Don't kiss my ass, Four. It's annoying."

"You're welcome."

One once again retains the stability of his squad. "Enough of that, cowpokes.

We're closing in… Be prepared for anything."

Ever the vigilant one, Three admires the togetherness of his squad. If it weren't for their leader's guidance, Two and Four would constantly be at each other's throats, but that seems to be their strong point: Two is a tracker and Four is a strategist; when they're heads are butting, they get along the best.

 _The maddest people make the most interesting team._

 _"_ _Impossible," one might say. But I believe at least six impossible things before dinner a day… I then ask if *I've* gone mad. Then, I don't answer._

 _…_ _Hmm…_

 _*Have* I gone mad? My, that's quite the puzzle._

The Highwaymen touchdown in Ferryman's courtyard, still undetected. As planned, they take their positions: Three moves in to deal with any sentinels; Four approaches the wall, and Two enters the ventilation system via his respective ability; One approaches the main office at the summit of the building.

Everything is going according to plan.

Four employs a shock wave through the building with a touch of her hand, which deactivates the building's electricity. This strategy serves well in destroying Ferryman's security system, leaving all therein vulnerable to an attack.

Two instantaneously breaks down his physical composition, becoming a noxious gas that makes it hard for everyone inside to breathe. But with a little concentration, this effect only applies to the zombie, Babyface… The last thing he wants on his conscience is having to deal with Three's wrath at a later time.

Both units maintain control over the environment, making Three and One's co-op approach that much easier.

* * *

 ** _F_** ** _erryman_** ** _T_** ** _rading_** ** _C_** ** _o.,_** ** _S_** ** _ydney_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _23:01—_** ** _M_** ** _ajor_** ** _L_** ** _ewis'_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

It's dark inside the building, a bit too dark… And the air; moments ago, Major Lewis had trouble breathing. Her head is a little light now.

"...Damn… What…was that?"

Suddenly, the major is alerted by the sound of bloody murder. "Gah—!"

"Guh, ah—!"

"Aah—! M…Ma-jor…"

"Gwah—! R…Run...Major...everyone…" Steel… Four of her men were just cut down; Major Lewis would know that sound from anywhere.

In her defense, the major readies her automatic for anything. But as she checks the area, gun in hand, a lone blade haunts her from the darkness: Three.

 _I knew it… Those radicals sent machines to do their dirty work._

 _These damned things just killed half of my team… And I sense that I'm being watched… The chills; I could never forget them._

 _But I'm not afraid._

 _It's common to get like this around machines. Against a monster of this caliber, you'd have to be brainless not to get worked up a little._

Then, as if things couldn't get any creepier, the major is met with a most curious development: The sweet scent of roses.

A light wind circulates the warehouse, trailing rose petals of a different color.

"W-What…the hell…?" Major Lewis doesn't know what to make of what's happening around her. It's beautiful, but, at the same time…frightening.

The next thing she hears…is the uneven sound of footsteps and a cane.

"My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere, you must run twice as fast as that." The voice of Three comes from everywhere, as do the uneven sounds.

 _That…was from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. The Queen said that to…_

— _Alice… What kind of lunatic am I dealing with here?_

In a flash, Three appears at her side, holding the brim of his top hat. Major Lewis backs away and aims her automatic at him!

"Who… Who the *fuck* are you?"

Three lowers his head and smiles. "Who am I? Who are you? Who are we?

How puzzling these things are.

I'm never sure *what* I am, from one minute to another. But you…" The Methuselah flips his cane, and holds it in a drawing manner.

Major Lewis readies her trigger finger, bold and courageous.

"Yeah. What about me, freak?"

"—you had three other rabbits with you. But no more." Three's response sends a cold chill down Major Lewis' spine… If what Three says is true, he killed *everyone* on the major's team; not just those four men.

That means… "Simmons, everyone… They're dead, *all of them*!?"

Three draws a scientifically-enhanced blade from to his cane, brandishes it and smiles. "Don't let them escape… Off with their heads!"

 _This man…this monstrous machine… He's crazy. He's bloody insane!_

 _But I'm not backing down. No way in hell!_

Major Lewis snaps, and ragefully sprays Three with bullets…

"Damn you! YAAAAH—!"

—to no avail, unfortunately: Three instantaneously disappears, right before her eyes, in a breeze of rose petals, escaping her rounds… It happened so fast, the major was unable to keep up with what happened.

"Running away, are we? Don't play that game with me…

—don't you even *think* of trying it. *Face me like a man*!"

Suddenly, Major Lewis hears the sound of steel swinging from her rear. Thinking quickly, the experienced soldier holds her gun at her side, ducks, spins and attempts to sweep the crafty Three to the ground!

Unfortunately… "W-What the…?"

—this attack, ironically, is revealed to be an illusion. A cluster of rose petals that trail away in the currents of her counterattack.

Major Lewis suddenly notices something strange about her firearm: It's much lighter and it feels… "—!? Y-You've...got to be...shitting me!"

—cut completely in half!

It happened in the instant the illusory Three was behind her: Before he drew his blade to behead her, the swordsman swiped his sword beyond the speed of sound. His reconstructed body enables such skill; a miracle of Mr. Black's technology.

After his blade bifurcated the major's automatic seven times, his rose petals attached to them and caused the severed parts to fade from existence.

 _I didn't hear it, I didn't see it; what he did was too fast… Not only is this machine insane, it's unbelievably skilled. I've *never* encountered one like this before._

 _This…isn't a machine… This man. Is he a demon?_

"It is better to be feared than loved… Right, little rabbit?" Major Lewis drops her ruined firearm, and draws a machete from a sheathe on her hip… The sound of Three's voice continues to haunt her. No matter where she turns, he's there.

"You… You don't scare me. *You hear that*!? *You don't scare me*!"

In a rough breeze, Three appears before her, close enough to stab or cut… But he seems so far away from her. As a matter of fact, just being near him makes Major Lewis feel...faint… She feels faint, and she doesn't understand why.

"Everyone's afraid here; no more, no less than the next.

To discard fear is to be courageous, to discard courage is to be human… Humans are naturally afraid. So to deny fear is to deny oneself: That which *you* cannot accomplish, child." The Methuselah's words haunt Major Lewis, before she collapses onto the floor…unconscious.

* * *

 ** _F_** ** _erryman_** ** _T_** ** _rading_** ** _C_** ** _o.,_** ** _S_** ** _ydney_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _23:07—_** ** _B_** ** _abyface's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

In less than an hour, the end of the day will arrive: Midnight, when the blood moon will be at its highest.

A zombie sleeps heavily. The only thing that can awaken it is the presence of its equal or someone much stronger… Thus, Babyface's slumber is disturbed by the sound of shattering glass.

"—!?" He opens his eyes, not daring to move a single muscle.

At the moment, he senses existential force equivalent to his own. It's strong, of that there is no doubt, but nowhere near his lord's level.

 _…_ _Someone's in my office… I thought I made myself clear: *No one* is to enter this place. The loft is *my* domain._

 _Damn it! In this state, if whoever this is…_

 _—_ _no… No, I won't think about it. That'll just get me worked up._

"~Oh, zombie… Come out, come out, wherever you are.~" One has entered the office in Babyface's loft, which doubles as the zombie's residential area.

He dares not move. Babyface knows this voice all too well: The boy he killed at the turn of the 19th century… The air suddenly feels tighter, and, even though he died a long time ago, the zombie finds it hard to breathe.

For the first time in a long while, Babyface…is petrified with fear.

"Hey, zombie! I know where you're hiding…

—I can smell your *rotted flesh*." Babyface hears One's boots crushing glass and tapping the floor, coming and closer… Still, he dares not move.

 _He…is entering my bedroom… That brat is coming to kill me!_

 _No… No, no, don't choke. Don't breathe. Stay still… Stay still._

A door opens, sending a chill down the zombie's spine!

"Babyface! I'm home!

Did you miss me…*asshole*!?" One's murderous intent closes the zombie's eyes. Babyface is horrified… However, if he must, he'll face One in mortal combat.

But he's afraid to die. The last thing he wants…is to disappear forever.

"Hey, rise and shine, deadman."

The Methuselah knocks thrice on the zombie's coffin.

Babyface opens his eyes and glares with a warrior's intent, knowing well what this means: One is up to his old tricks; using old-fashioned scare tactics.

 _This brat… I hate him. I've *always* hated him._

 _I'll show him, I'll show *everyone*...just how powerful I really am!_

One's provocations have awakened more from Babyface than originally intended: He senses a drastic increase in existential force.

"Existence, *activate*." One smiles, lifts his right hand, and opens its wide. Lines of neon green light trace…trace…and trace a lifelike projection: A refined image that materializes into an ornate, silver and golden handgun. One takes the handgun and aims it at Babyface's coffin. "Goodnight…asshole!"

The Methuselah unloads his existential handgun on the zombie's casket, filling it with holes…mercilessly...without restraint!

Then, in a fit of rage, One kicks the coffin off its mount with his right foot, holding onto his hat with a sly grin… The wooden casket crashes into the floor just beyond its mount, as One recovers and walks around to view his dirty work.

But when he arrives… "—!? Well, should've expected that."

—the zombie is nowhere to be found. The only thing left behind…is a pile of dust, fresh but reeking with the zombie's stench of death.

 _He's never seen my existence, so I have an upper hand on him. But…_

 _—_ _one false move…and that *really will* be me; a pile of dust._

Suddenly, the dust from the coffin disappears, as does the coffin and its mount!

One's eyes widen with shock… "The *hell* is this?"

—because he feels it: Babyface's existence…is massive!

"Sing, **Tender Lover**!" The zombie's voice booms from behind him, forcing the Methuselah to turn and point his gun…at a rampaging wall of serpents!

One is overwhelmed by a mixture of fear, shock and disbelief!

"W-What!? *Impossible*!"

In the blink of an eye, the wall of serpents overpowers One, forcing him to the ground, where they begin punishing him. Bite after bite, their venom enters his body, corroding him from the inside out!

Babyface stands and observes his serpents' feast from afar, unharmed and proud of his sneak attack. A coward to the bitter end.

 _That's what he gets for coming in here. Damned brat!_

 _…_ _I can't afford to die here. If that happens, our lord will be *beyond* displeased… Also, if I manage to survive and Ferryman falls, he'd personally kill me himself._

 _So…I must live. I must protect Ferryman!_

 _I hate this brat. Killing is never a challenge, but…_

 _—_ _geez. I'm getting too old for this._


	18. Act 8: Given A Chance (B-3)

**_O_** ** _bel Tower,_** ** _B_** ** _elfast_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _23:13—_** ** _S_** ** _tephen's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Donegall Quay, home to the tallest highrise building in Belfast: Obel Tower.

A residential building, Obel Tower contains 233 apartments as of last month. Infinity-funded, Infinity-owned, Obel Tower is located on the River Lagan beside the Lagan Weir… For some reason, this is where Dead Motion has led Stephen.

D. Remedy comes to a quick touchdown atop the building, forcing the vampire to do the same… The elder sibling stands boldly, his back turned to Stephen. It's as if their chase has released a little steam from his head.

 _These sprogs led me here for a reason. And I know what it is._

"Plan on taking a few hostages?"

D. Remedy remains silent, his back still turned to Stephen. But…

—this silence… Something is amiss, dreadfully wrong.

Stephen senses a change in Dead Motion's sync rate: It has increased drastically, a bit too much for an A-class nightwalker. The wind is picking up, more and more by the second, but these currents… They don't feel close; they feel…remote.

"…We're doing *more* than that…doctor…" D. Remedy finally speaks, his voice deep, piercing and distorted, as if his humanity has been discarded.

Stephen stands defensively, his posture wild, yet strong and defined.

"These winds. What are they?"

"...Ever been in the eye of a hurricane?" D. Remedy's reply sends a wave of shock through Stephen's body. To be standing in the eye of a hurricane: The vampire questions whether or not something like that is possible for nightwalkers of their status. Sure, they're strong, but to manipulate the air to *this* extent…

 _They're bluffing. There's no way in *hell* these sprogs can pull something like that off. The only one capable of that…is already dead._

"I recall the legends, doctor: Why your friend and his former partner were dubbed 'Hurricane'. *You* gave them that name, in honor of your greatest opponent, **Klaus Schenker** ; one of the Newjacks, I believe."

Stephen is unfazed by D. Remedy's knowledge of his former battles. That happened hundreds of years ago, and has nothing to do with the present. Still, to know so much…the elder sibling headhunter has definitely done his homework.

However… "You're trying to imitate what happened."

—Stephen sees through D. Remedy's game, much to the headhunter's delight. His grin, though unseen, is felt by the doctor… And it's pissing him off.

"So what if I am? I have the power to do it.

This eye is very wide, about the size of Belfast itself. Everyone outside of it is safe, but I can't say the same about the people next to it.

However, if you refuse to surrender, I'll close it. Everyone caught inside will die, including us… And I know that's not something you want."

To do such a thing: Dead Motion is beyond serious. They've been driven over the edge by their contract. Kilkenny is definitely suffering high winds, and Dublin is next in line to that. Either way one looks at it, what Dead Motion proposes is more than challenging to the doctor: Concede and allow the headhunters to execute him, or be responsible for hundreds of deaths.

 _It's just like back then. Klaus pulled the same trick, and died in the process._

 _These sprogs are too overconfident; so much that they're making stupid mistakes. But that's what happens when the Old Man is on your back._

 _And…and…_

 _—_ _Kate, the young father…and even the necromancer… They're all in Belfast. If these sprogs close this eye, they'll destroy all of us. And I know that's something *neither one of them* wants… Trying to school me? *Ridiculous*._

"Can you tolerate an afterlife with that kind of guilt on your heart?" D. Remedy finally turns and faces Stephen, moved by what he said.

*Could* they tolerate the guilt?

Quite the tough question, but it should be obvious:

Dead Motion are driven by their will to protect their people. They'll go above and beyond to ensure their safety, with no regard to their own lives. They know what might happen if they fail this mission, but, if they die…the church will no longer have a reason to spare the Oti.

They must live and they must never lose… "—never. I…we…"

"That's the same look Klaus gave me." Stephen captures their attention once more, his acidic stare feeling as if it threatens to burn a hole in D. Remedy.

"The…same look…"

"He couldn't do it, and neither can you. No 'tool' can.

You're either born to hate or you're made to hate. Everyone hates something, even I have a heart full of hatred… One of the things I hate is this: Those who hold no value over life, the freedom to live, and the right to live life as one sees fit.

The Old Man, White Album, the whole damn church; no matter how 'sweet' they are on people, they'll turn heaven into hell just to fill their bellies… I know about your connections with Kerri, we all do.

He was once a good man, but that was a *long* time ago. Under servitude of the first Nightlord, Kerri was a saint of saints. When that bastard killed his father and usurped the throne of the night, he and every other cleric changed…and so did I."

How ironic, Stephen is schooling D. Remedy on the history of this war. Amid a familiar scene nonetheless: Standing in the center of a hurricane's eye.

The headhunter remains quiet, as Stephen continues… "The Old Man, **Valdo Sebastian von Dracula** , would've been a great Nightlord if he weren't so jealous.

 **Count Orlok Vladimir von Dracula** , his father, led us all to peace. Valdo led us to misery, separation and bloodshed… Everyone he uses, including you two; you're nothing more than *toys*... You actually believe your people are still alive?"

D. Remedy's fists tighten with frustration, as he lowers his head. To be told his people aren't alive anymore: This has struck a major nerve with him.

 _I had to tell them…the *other* reason why we sent the Highwaymen to assassinate Babyface and shut down Ferryman:_

 _The Oti are already dead. Not even Mr. Black knows about it; he just followed orders like always… A sleeper-agent working for the enemy sent an invoice to_ _ **Mother Wendy **__short of a month ago. A side note explained everything._

 _Besides Alexei, I'm the only one who knows about it. I…even tried putting these horrible thoughts at the back of my mind, lying to myself, making it seem as if it didn't happen…but it did. I wasn't supposed to say it, but…_

"...How long, doctor?" D. Remedy finally speaks up.

"About a month, sprog. Don't be mad at Kerri, he didn't know about it.

I'm pretty sure, considering how powerful we are right now, everyone with an existence within a hundred miles can hear what we're saying." And they do… Natalie, TJ, Dr. Lyte, White Album; everyone except the slumbering Stuart and Dawnavan hears the truth: The Oti are no more.

Li'l Thrill transmutes back into his normal self, as D. Remedy collapses onto his hands and knees…in the deepest of suffering. Li'l Thrill kneels and comforts his elder brother, realizing they're the last of their kind.

"This… They're…gone…" Stephen turns away, and holds his hands to the sky, ignoring D. Remedy's lamentation. Li'l Thrill can't turn his eyes away from the doctor, who seems to be undergoing a strange procedure: From his opened palms sprouts an excess of spores with a unique jade glow to them… D. Remedy notices what the doctor's doing, and becomes curious. "Doc… What…is that?"

"A gentler side of my existence. One of the special things about my **Absorption** ability: With enough concentration, my sync rate will rise high enough to memorize my opponent's power, personality and hidden traits.

It happened the instant you blasted your Silent Scream at me: I took a bit of your 'hot air' into my hand. That one second was all I needed. It allowed me to see right through the both of you; thus, I *knew* what to do should you pull something like this… I just didn't think you had to nerve to do it.

These spores are another version of my **Healing** ability. They're greatest function is the nullification of malevolent existential force. So, as things stand, your precious little hurricane…is about to meet its end."

 _Even after what happened on the road, I don't have to heart to kill them. That old me… He's dead. And he's better off gone for good._

 _I should have succumbed to hunger by now, but I forgot something about my existence: Additional exposure to my territory drains a minimal percentage of my opponent's blood, regenerating my own. It happens in the blink of an eye, so fast that even I have trouble keeping up with it._

 _…_ _My existence has a mind of its own… These sprogs should succumb to blood loss in a few seconds. They won't die, but…they'll be asleep for a while._

Stephen looks over his left shoulder, to notice the siblings losing a battle against their own stamina. With their blood partially drained, Dead Motion falls asleep.

In the next few moments, the siblings' hurricane dies. Damages are noticeable… Dead Motion threatened a suicide attack, but their consciences got the best of them in the end. Unfortunately, Stephen *still* senses malevolence in the air. Ironically, these bad vibes… They're coming from two different directions:

The east *and* the west.

"Someone's coming…and *fast*."

The doctor gets his answer from the east first: A shower of glistening objects that bypasses Stephen in an instant…and intercepts something coming from the west. The doctor looks in that direction…to notice a ghostly light undergo instant negation, once its apex is met with the objects.

This causes an explosion that nearly knocks Stephen off balance, but experience serves him well: The doctor kneels to maintain some control over his body. His decision, fortunately, saves him from being pushed over the edge of the building.

 _This power… I've felt it before._

"It seems I made it in time, Dr. Farrelly." Stephen looks to the east, and notices a familiar face: The revived archmagus, Yuvraj.

The doctor overflows with relief. "—You… You're all better. I'm glad."

"All thanks to you. Now, leave this place.

You're needed elsewhere." The archmagus Steps forward, and halts aside Stephen to the west of him, while drawing a katar from a rift in time.

Stephen does need to meet up with Natalie and Theodore, so Yuvraj is right to dismiss him so quickly. Still… The doctor wonders if he's well enough to fight.

But before he can say anything, Yuvraj stops him… "Away with you, doctor.

I've encountered this person before, so I'll be fine. What matters now is your safety. After pulling something like that off, you're in *no* shape to fight.

I ask that you hold your tongue, and leave. Please?"

* * *

 ** _Obel Tower, Belfast_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _23:19—Yuvraj's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

 _I arrived in the nick of time. Finding this man was hard, and I should feel fortunate: He was able to hold his own against the headhunters._

 _But this was more than just a trap._

 _Dead Motion led the doctor here because, in case they lost, they have backup: The man responsible for this necromancy, Father Kerrigan._

The legendary cleric has arrived, riding the wind like a ghost in the night. In Stephen's place, the archmagus, Yuvraj, stands to face him.

The atmosphere comes alive with wandering souls, howling, wailing, confessing their longing for freedom… The chanter of elegies Steps forward, coming to a quick touchdown some paces away from his enemies.

He then looks to his left…and notices Dead Motion, sound asleep.

"…You spared them, Paddington…

—why? After all they've done, why spare their lives?" His words strike true: Dead Motion killed so many people, mercilessly, but it was all an order… They knew what they were doing was wrong. But despite all of that, Stephen…he…

 _I can feel the doctor's existence: His old heart…is aching._

 _Dr. Farrelly wants the fighting to stop. He even went as far as to deactivate his existence. This man standing behind me…_

 _—he's not a killer, he's a saint with a heart of gold. Sure, he has his moments, but what vampire doesn't? It's only natural._

 _I…I can't… I refuse to…_

"Stay away from the doctor…*and* those men, necromancer!" In a flash, Yuvraj swipes the air with his katar, and cuts a large rift in time that operates as a ward. An improvement of his Timesplitter technique: He can now temporarily destroy time itself, creating separate realities. Timesplitter now has both offensive *and* defensive traits, making it more strategic in nature.

Father Kerrigan covers his eyes, hiding his vision from the rift's repelling existential force. It's unbearable to him… This power…is equivalent to his own.

"I don't believe this. Whoever this man is, he's *dangerous*." The necromancer then closes his eyes, and focuses his existence via rhyme… "Seesaw Marjorie Daw, Johnny shall have a new master;

He shall earn but a penny a day, Because he can't work any faster."

—and, with these words, the souls of the dead amass. Together, as one, they pursue Yuvraj's rift… But they're easily nullified.

Father Kerrigan can't believe what he's seeing. "W—What the blazes!?"

 _The laws of my territory have also improved: No matter how many times he attacks, the necromancer will *not* enter this reality._

"Doctor, listen to me…"

Stephen gives Yuvraj his attention. "What is it, war—"

"—*archmagus,* if you please. I walk a different path now.

Anyway, hear me out: I'm going to translocate you and these men. As I said before, you're needed elsewhere… Release, **Timesplitter**!" The archmagus focuses his existential force, increasing his sync rate a bit. This does as he hinted: Stephen and Dead Motion are pulled into rifts that transport them away from the area.

Yuvraj pushed himself a bit to pull that off… He's huffing, at a loss of breath. To go so far for others: The archmagus has undoubtedly changed.

 _The doctor should be with his friends now. And those men have been transported to the local Hewson Medical Center… That's the best I could do._

 _At any rate, I can't let this monster run free; he'll kill everyone in Belfast to increase his power. As he is now, I can hold him off for a while…_

 _—long enough for the doctor to do something. I *must* engage the necromancer, but I'll retain a minimal sync rate of 60%. Should I go any higher, everyone caught in the blood metres of my territory…will…_

Yuvraj swipes his katar inward, dismissing his rift and reconnecting the separated realities. This causes a minor tremor, but not one strong enough to level anything… Father Kerrigan still retains his position, his expressions confessing a level of surprise and fascination.

The archmagus then cuts a rift in time, retires his katar into the space, and draws…a **Maduvu** : A defensive weapon favoring a low stance, in which the wielder strives to stay lower than the opponent thereby reducing any openings to the body's vital points. The weapon consists of two blackbuck horns pointing in opposite directions, connected by two crossbars which also act as a handle. It's also tipped with steel, and fitted with a plate of the same alloy that acts as a shield.

Father Kerrigan recognizes the weapon… Typically, the wielder will block or parry attacks before countering with a thrust, choke, lock or disarm. Offensively, the maduvu is treated similarly to a dagger, used for stabbing.

The cleric snickers malevolently, realizing what this means.

"Playing it safe now, are we?

I expect nothing less from a magician. Nothing but tricks." Yuvraj's expressions are like stone… He remains unaffected by Father Kerrigan's insult, much to the ancient cleric's amusement. "Heh. I expected this as well: Silence.

Honestly, what do you hope to achieve, magician? I'm certain it's not allegiance; you're the most antisocial piece of shite I've ever met…

—no family, no friends, nothing. With a heart as empty as yours, I'm surprised you helped those people just now. Could it be…your contract?"

 _The necromancer is measuring me up. Should I give him the chance, he'll know exactly how to defeat me… I won't give him a verbal answer, not just yet._

Father Kerrigan smiles, amused by Yuvraj's obstinance.

"…Okay, I understand, magician. You won't answer me.

But I *do* know how to make you move." The archmagus glares, confused, provoked and itching to strike the cleric into ruin. To this end, the chanter of elegies believes he's figured Yuvraj out. "You're a dutiful soul, I admire that…

—but that is also a *weakness*… Gather, **Revolution**!" With this cry, the superficial bounds of Father Kerrigan's existence are released. However, his territory is quite unlike those Yuvraj has seen in the past: It's composed mostly of wandering souls, which serves as a confession on the cleric's part.

 _Without souls, he's nothing. His contract lies solely in appeasing death itself, which makes him *somewhat* of a grim reaper. He…is no ordinary vampire._

The odds seem to be against Yuvraj, but he has yet to fully release his existence. To protect the people here, and to buy Stephen time, he must abstain from getting too serious with Father Kerrigan. Thus, defense is his only option.

Yuvraj lowers his stance and prepares for the unexpected… "You're revealing too much to your enemy, necromancer. This…is *your* weakness.

I will now expose you for the pitiful soul that you really are. Come!"


	19. Act 8: Given A Chance (B-4)

**_M_** ** _ullen Institute,_** ** _D_** ** _ublin_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _23:24—_** ** _D_** ** _r._** ** _L_** ** _yte's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Northern Ireland has been shaken: Damages in Kilkenny are horrible, but they aren't irreparable. Due to the sudden disaster, local authorities have closed off Kilkenny until all issues have been resolved.

But no matter what the authorities accomplish…

 _I sense death._

 _No power can resurrect a life without lineage._

—one can only repair life so much, before it slips away. Even Stephen's existence has its limits; all of them do.

Dr. Lyte closes her eyes and lowers her head, turning away from the carnage S. I. A. projects. "…A recorded 27 residences have been completely leveled. Local medical facilities are currently booked and full—"

The doctor deactivates S. I. A.'s projection, not wanting to hear another word… It's too much for her. If Dead Motion's storm accomplished that much, this means that…what happened back then…during the Revolution…

"...Again… It happened *again,* and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

Why did they do that? To go this far…

—it's good Paddington stopped them when he did. If he waited a moment longer, Kilkenny would've been wiped *clear* off the map!" She slams her hands onto S. I. A.'s base, triggering a reaction from the machine: A computer-animated face appears on its monitor, one that seems to pity Dr. Lyte.

"Has this troubled you, mistress?"

Dr. Lyte sheds tears, much like a normal human. "S. I. A., please… Increase the difficulty rate to 1.5. We must push them…the new-bloomers."

 _I knew it was reckless. I *knew* it, but… Mr. Crowley and Mr. Bennett._

 _I activated my existence,_ _ **Spice Girl**_ _, and remotely invaded their minds. Tapping into my old talents as a sorceress, I was able to cast a recollection spell._

 _The "other" versions they see...the creatures they're struggling to overcome…_

 _—_ _that *is* them._

 _They must defeat themselves…in order to understand themselves. To prevent things like this from happening a third time: *That's* why I'm doing this… I have to push them, or more and more people will die like this._

"Mistress…"

S. I. A. awakens Dr. Lyte from deep thought. "Y—Yes?"

"—difficulty has been increased to 1.5. Cerebral training operations set."

The doctor stands, wipes her tears away and smiles.

"Splendid work, S. I. A.

You're always pulling through of us. Thank you so much."

"It's a pleasure, mistress." Dr. Lyte turns and proceeds to leave the laboratory.

The doctor initially came here because she was awoken by a horrible premonition: What she saw on S. I. A.'s projection; a storm that levels an entire city, causing dozens of deaths and millions of dollars in property damage.

On top of this, the doctor also saw what happened at Queen's University.

She knows Dead Motion is responsible for both, but to push their existence to this level…Dr. Lyte realizes what this means… The doctor exits her laboratory, turns as the security door closes, and inputs her passcode, which reinforces the door.

 _I'll continue this in the morning, but, in the meantime, I'll monitor the new-bloomers' progression…the best way I know how._

* * *

 ** _Mullen Institute, Dublin_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _23:27—Dawnavan's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

The first step: To defeat oneself in order to understand oneself. A challenging task for any person, no matter how disciplined or toughened.

Dawnavan's "other" self pursues him mercilessly.

No matter where he moves, no matter how many times he evades, the "other" self is fast; a monster of unpredictable, unimaginable speed. Ferocity that makes Dawnavan's heart race with fear… "What's wrong, are you afraid of yourself?"

—the kind that makes everything seem cruel.

Time itself seems like a cruel thing to Dawnavan: It's been nearly an hour since this began, or probably even longer than that. He can't remember.

Dawnavan's been running so much, the last thing on his mind is what time it is.

 _It's too fast… I can't keep up with this thing._

 _It says we're one in the same, but…I'm *nothing* like this._

"Why do you keep running? Aren't you afraid to die?

…Why won't you fight, Kresnik!?"

The "other" self Steps in the blink of an eye, escaping Dawnavan's vision… Then, it reappears behind him, and swats him away with its right hand!

"DAAH—!" Dawnavan flies rightward, injured, terrified beyond reason. Never has he encountered someone of such speed, power and killer instinct.

 _I can't believe this… What kind of dream am I having here!?_

…Such violence… There's no possible way this could be an ordinary dream.

And it's not: This is the remote influence of Dr. Lyte's existence, Spice Girl.

As a former sorceress, Dr. Lyte is masterful with spellcraft of the sort… At first, the "other" self was an even match for Dawnavan, but, as time progressed, it became more savage, more terrifying. A "monster" in every sense.

The "other" self watches as Dawnavan crashes into the anemones, the back of his shirt torn, bloodied by the grazing of the "other" self's claw.

It pains the "other" self to see this, but… "Stand up, now.

We…are Kresniks. It is in our blood, to fight for what we believe in.

The scion of love can't protect us forever. We must learn to fend for ourselves. As we are now, we…will surely be killed, in no time at all."

—Dawnavan must learn. He must push himself, or risk dying at the hands of another… It's the only way to survive this war.

 _I…feel that way… I know Stuart won't be able to protect me forever. That's why I trained, took self-defense classes, and excelled at everything I did. Not to impress anyone or myself… I just…didn't want to hold anyone back._

 _Stuart, our friends, they're all strong fighters. I'm just a manager; an overseer for a powerful competitor… Sure, I have Kresnik blood, but I don't know the first thing to do with it. I…I… I'm useless to them. I feel like a waste of space!_

"*Don't* let that slip from us again!" The "other" self booms with pride, striking Dawnavan silent… In response, he closes his eyes, sits up and takes a moment to reflect on what's happening right now: Dawnavan is fighting himself.

Since he was a little boy, he's had trouble believing in himself; confidence was never his strong point. Dawnavan often found himself coming to this place when his family relocated here, but the fulfillment he gained from this field…

—it was minuscule. This field did give him some hope, but it was a transient feeling. This field is where he met Stuart, but their relationship was and still is racked with confusion, strife and seemingly unconquerable challenges.

The "other" self smiles, knowing what Dawnavan's thinking… "We already know this, so reflecting on that won't change anything.

We need to focus on our responsibility as Kresniks. If we don't get stronger, nothing but tragedy will befall the world.

Kresniks ensure peace, longevity and the security of the harvest. We cannot concern ourselves with things that make us weak—"

"Like what, exactly?"

Dawnavan finally speaks, surprising the "other" self. "…You say you're me, but you're nothing like me at all. I'm not this strong, but I would like to be.

Everything about you is a contradiction.

I can't accept a monster like you. To hurt your own self: What person could do that and be able to live with themselves afterwards? It's not possi—"

"In case you've forgotten, idiot…

—*we* do it all the time!" It was delusional of Dawnavan to say that. But when one wrestles with their own heart, irrationality becomes a dominant trait.

 _I can't keep this up. Running away, not making any sense… I'm doing nothing but torturing myself. I'm not standing in anyone's way but my own._

 _…I must get up and face this thing… No matter how stupid or weak I look, or even if I fall again, I can't run away. Come on, Dawnavan, stand…get up, right now!_

The "other" self closes its eyes, smiling at how pitiful Dawnavan is acting. Talking himself into doing something that he might fail at: This is a kind of insanity only humans are capable of. Even as a Kresnik, a special kind of nightwalker, he is no more or less human than the next person… Dawnavan is fighting in his own way.

The wound on his back stings, but Dawnavan chooses to ignore the pain, turn and face the "other" self. Just like before, but, this time…he's mentally prepared.

"I'm not running away anymore. I may be weak, but I'll fight you if I must!"

The "other" self shakes its head. "We aren't weak, we're unconfident.

But this isn't a weakness, it's a challenge one must overcome. Even the most accomplished creatures are afraid to fail. It happens to everyone.

This is our test: Something we *must* pass. Doubt isn't going to get us anywhere… Stuart is dealing with a similar issue right now. When we awaken, let's greet him with a smile, not a frown. We'll also tell him about our dream, and he'll do the same for us… **_We're afraid, but we have people to fight for_**."

For a moment, the "other" self's voice overlapped. "The last sentence it said: We're afraid, but we have people to fight for"…

—sounded like a woman said it… Dawnavan has heard this voice before. But he can't remember *where* he heard it from, or who the person is.

 ** _We have much to fight for. So many people are depending on us right now._**

 ** _If we fail…_** Without another word, the "other" self Steps into the offensive!

However, this time, Dawnavan's innate instincts awaken: He displays the same speed and strength he showed Stuart at the punching bag years ago, catching the "other" self's shooting right wrist before its claws reach his chest!

So fast, so strong… The "other" self is impressed, but Dawnavan is serious.

"—we won't fail. Stuart taught me that.

When he instructed me back then, it was to prepare me for situations like this.

I was strong even at that age, but I hated my strength, my speed, *everything* about myself. I still do, but… I can't fail. I won't fail!" Uncertainty becomes courage, as Dawnavan pulls the "other" self into a fierce right haymaker to the jaw…that sends it flying backwards at uncontrollable speeds!

 _I won't fail! I learned courage from *everyone*: Natalie, Theodore, Stephen, everyone we've met along the way; they taught me to brave._

 _"Never give up," that's what they'd always tell me. No matter how many times I doubted myself, they were always there, cheering me on. Even Stuart, who has endured so much more than me… I won't fail. I won't disappoint them!_

Dawnavan isn't confident, he never was and probably never will be. But he has a reason to keep going…to never give up.

The "other" self quickly recovers with a flap of its wings. However, its eyes have been opened to how "strong" Dawnavan *really* is.

And it's inspiring… "We…we won't lose… That's the spirit!"

Dawnavan rakes his hair, flips it and smiles charmingly.

"Humph. *That* impressed you?

You're easy to please. But who isn't these days?

Fine, I'll show you more 'spirit,' by kicking your arse *all across this field*." He stands defensively, his fists ready to deliver another blow.

He's showing strength, but it isn't his own. This is the strength everyone has given him… His Kresnik blood comes alive with the will to fight because they cared about him; they gave him the strength he could never attain on his own.

 _Watch me… I'm going to win this._

 _And it's all thanks to you._

 _Everyone, I'm eternally grateful. Truly, I am._


	20. Act 8: Given A Chance (Finale)

**_Ferryman_** ** _T_** ** _rading_** ** _C_** ** _o.,_** ** _S_** ** _ydney_**

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _23:34—_** ** _T_** ** _wo's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

It's quiet in the loft. Not a sound has been heard since Babyface's decisive attack, and the Highwaymen are beginning to worry.

One should be done with the zombie by now, given his experience. However, as we all know, Babyface got the best of him: A sneak attack; overpowering him with a wall of serpents that have all but eaten the Methuselah alive.

Two's tracking system serves its purpose: He detects two existential forces from Babyface's bedroom; one at a normal sync rate, the other…critically low.

Using the building's circulation system, Two makes his way to the scene via his airy composition, his elemental form allowing him to move with haste.

When he arrives, he notices a familiar scene…

 _Seriously, One? This trick…_

 _—_ _talk about "old school". I'm surprised this zombie hasn't caught on by now._

—the fallen Methuselah released a hint of his existence, and traced his entire body; a technique with origins from Germanic Christian magic.

 **Tracing** not only pertains to summoning **Judgment** , it can also completely rewrite an object's physical composition, which is exactly what One has done to himself. The person Babyface killed…isn't even the *real* One.

The zombie hears the unlocking of a gun, and then experiences the familiar sensation… "Feeling confident, dusty britches?"

—of being held at gunpoint. The barrel of Judgment is aimed at his skull!

"W—Wha…how did you…" Babyface wrestles with what to say, how to react, what to make of all of this. For One to pull something like this off: The zombie is definitely in the presence of a force to be reckoned with.

"I ain't tellin' you shit about it, dusty britches. You had your chance ages ago.

I'd ask you to give my posse and my girl a hug for me, but after all the hell *you* raised… Well, I think you know where you're going."

The zombie shivers with fear. "W—Wait, don't shoot. I—I'll stop, I'll shut Ferryman down myself. Just…please… I don't want to die. Please!"

"Please, *please,* drop to your knees. You're going out the old-fashioned way.

You know… The same way you did *me* in?" Babyface complies, prostrating himself, One's barrel pressed against his head.

 _This is how they used to do it back in the old west. If One's going to kill him, he'll do it *his* way: Hang 'em, shoot 'em, drag 'em, things like that._

 _Kind of cool having a real cowboy on your team. But he's cutthroat most of the time, leaving no openings for anyone, not even us… I may not say this out loud, but I'm scared *shitless* of this man when he gets mad._

 _Oh, well… Sayonara, Babyface._

Without another word, One pulls his trigger and executes the zombie with a bullet to the skull. The impact causes Babyface's head to explode into billions and billions of dust particles, before his corpse collapses to the floor.

Tender Lover's serpents, as a result, rot and decay, and are revealed to be nothing more than dust given form… An existence of dust and sand: Tender Lover could be shaped into anything Babyface wanted it to be, and, should the sun have shined upon his body…he might have won this battle.

"And with *that* done…" One adjusts his hat, and begins tracing the cadaver. Line by line, bit by bit, Babyface's body is traced…until it's completely covered in mystic circuitry. Then, in an instant, the circuits contract and compress into a ball no bigger than an inch all around. "—another one bites the dust."

 _Judgment has been delivered:_

 _The zombie has been added to the old cowboy's collection. One is very meticulous; he'll either erase or collect all evidence before exiting the scene. Not a single spec is left behind, and, if I know the guy well enough, he's rewired the entire building by now with his magic circuitry:_ _ **Testament**_ _…_

 _—_ _the clever old bastard. Gotta love 'im though._

 _Anyway, it's time for us to leave._

 _As soon as One focuses his existence, Ferryman will be history. This entire building will be erased off the map, and all its branches will crumble within a few weeks… The Old Man's going to lose it after this one. But what can you do?_

"Let's roll out, Two." The spying Methuselah has been figured out. One observes the vent to the southwest, but his teammate has already left.

It seems Two is a step ahead of his squad leader.

A clever smile decorates his face. "Sly little cowpoke… I'll get 'im later. Heh."

* * *

 ** _The Fitzwilliam Hotel, Belfast_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _23:39—Theodore's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

It's been a little over an hour now. Theodore continues to endure the strain of his existence, fighting to keep Natalie, his girlfriend, confined. His diamond barrier has weakened over time, but it's still strong enough to contain her.

Should his sync rate lower, however, Theodore focuses… No less than 50%: It's a challenge, it's testing to his body, but the golem endures….for her sake.

 _Keep going…keep going…keep…going… I don't know how much more I can take, but…I…can't give up. Natalie…needs me…she…needs me!_

"…Teddy Bear…listen to me…"

He hears her voice calling him by his nickname… "N—Nat…a…lie…"

—so distant, so very far away, but he can hear her.

Theodore took more of a beating than he originally believed. He's even starting to have trouble controlling his regeneration.

Natalie balls her fists against his barrier, losing the battle against her hunger.

"…get out of here…run… If you don't, once your body gives out…" Her reasoning is suddenly quieted by the appearance of something familiar: Green Day's spores, circulating ever so gently throughout their bedroom.

 _Flowers… I smell…flowers…_

Lavender: The sweetest scent conveyed by the doctor's existence.

"Keep inhaling for a few minutes…" Natalie and Theodore's senses are touched by Stephen's voice… He's in the room with them, having entered through their bedroom window. "—let it set in. You'll both be fine within the hour."

Their senses were dulling drastically. The worst would have transpired within minutes… But the doctor has arrived, right on time nonetheless.

Natalie smiles weakly, trying her very best to thank him.

"P—Pad…dy…"

Stephen lifts his hands, signalling her to hold her tongue.

"Don't speak, Kate. Same goes for you, TJ.

My scrap with Dead Motion replenished enough blood to last me 'til we get to the next pharmacy. I'll stop at one and pick up a few pills." They expected nothing less from the doctor: Never failing to deliver when he's needed the most. However, his mood darkens a bit, as he lowers his hands… "But we're not done yet. Someone's out there fighting for us… Let's keep our fingers crossed."

Stephen turns and approaches the opened window, where he takes a moment to observe the carnage in the distance… "Kate, TJ, my people have suffered quite a bit in the past 24 hours. We…won't be able to save most of them.

But this battle… I know our unexpected ally will win. He's found something to fight for, a reason to exist. So let's keep helping him.

I…know it's what *they* would have wanted." His friends realize who he's referring to: All the loved ones they've lost in their ongoing campaign against the church. From the first to the most recent, they have a legacy to uphold.

* * *

 _ **Ending Theme: Love Is A Battlefield**_

 _ **Artist: Pat Benatar**_

* * *

 _The doctor's right. We must continue our pursuit for universal love._

 _Attaining such a reward, it seems unrealistic to most, but…it has kept us going for a long time. It gives us power; the will to press on._

 _Through love, the world will be cleansed and restored: This ideology is sure to reconnect what's been broken for centuries. But…_

 _—I wonder… When will the destruction finally come to an end?_

* * *

 ** _Mullen Institute, Dublin_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _23:43—Stuart's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

The ultimate question: When *will* the destruction come to an end?

Perhaps when the Nightlord falls from grace. Or maybe when he dies.

Virtue deems that no one should kill or be killed, which makes things that much harder on the radicals: Count Valdo deserves to undergo a true death, to be erased from this world, but no one has the right to kill another… Even if this person is a monster among men, it still isn't right. However…

—the monster Stuart engages in battle is unlike any combatant he's encountered in the past: The antithesis of himself.

 _This *thing* is breaking me… I'm bleeding…I feel pain…_

 _—*real* pain… How is this possible? I don't understand!_

Stuart's "other" self tilts its head slightly, confused and a bit frustrated.

"Scion of love, these feelings are illusory. But they *could* become real, should we behave like this during a real fight.

That's not what we want, we can't afford to lose.

To be the light amidst darkness: That's our purpose in life. Achieving such greatness calls for something *more* than strength."

Those words stand out to Stuart… "Something…'more than' strength?

I'm at a loss. What…are you trying to tell me?"

"Fight me, scion of love. Figure it out…through mortal combat!" The "other" self ruthlessly engages Stuart, forcing agility, defense and intelligence from him. The antithesis' assault is delivered at the speed of light, judging from what Stuart perceives. Such ferocity is unattainable to a normal man, but…

 _I can't keep up. This thing is attacking so… So fast. Trying to read this monster is making me dizzy. If I don't do something soon…I'm done for._

 _But this is a dream. It hurts like hell, but it's *still* just a dream._

 _I…I won't lose. I refuse to stand here and…_

—Stuart isn't a "normal" man. The "other" self may be his antithesis, but they're still one in the same: Half human, half vampire.

He must remember that.

Stuart is called "the scion of love" for a reason; this saying isn't cosmetic.

Thus, he closes his eyes and clears his mind… "Focus, Stu, focus…"

—and, instantly, everything seems vivid to him, much clearer than before. Stuart can even see where his antithesis is attacking. Method, angle, velocity, striking power, stamina: He sees these things and much, much more.

The antithesis' barrage has become utterly predictable.

"What do you hope to accomplish by evading only, scion of lo—" Stuart silences his "other" self, by delivering a fierce right uppercut to its stomach. The impact of his strike is so powerful, the antithesis is sent flying to the ground!

 _Clear my mind. Must not see with my eyes; I must feel with my heart._

 _This thing *is* me. The "old" me: Hungry, willing to tear down anything and anyone that stood in my way, the dirtiest bastard out of the country… I *was* a monster, until I found "something" to keep me tame._

 _Dawnavan, our friends: Among them, I found… Family!_

Infinity: A group united for the pursuit of universal love; a family in their own right. Their unity is their greatest strength.

Stuart was once "alone," or so he believed. From the very beginning, they were always on his side, monitoring his every move. It was not by chance that he met Dawnavan and their friends… "Fate brought us together. When I felt everything was slipping through my hands, they were protecting me from the shadows.

Love: That is the power I'm searching for. But still, my lineage…"

The antithesis stands from ruin, proud of how far Stuart has come. It took him a while, but he was able to understand this much.

"Scion of love, congratulations are in order. But this is *far* from over… We are important to both humans *and* nightwalkers. ** _Without us, this world…will die._** " Once again, an antithesis' concluding words are spoken like a woman: The same same voice, the same tone, the same pitch. It's strange…

—Stuart *swears* he's heard it from somewhere before.

"W—What…is this?

Who are you? Are you…really me?"

 ** _Fight and rediscover yourself: This is the only way._**

 ** _If you can't do that, you'll *never* survive this war._** The voice speaks again, but not from the antithesis… It comes from *everywhere*. Even Dawnavan can hear it, booming loudly but gently enough to not be overwhelming.

 ** _Mr. Bennett, Mr. Crowley, I want to help you. With my guidance, you'll see great heights, but you must first conquer yourselves._**

 ** _You've come so far already. That's good, I'm proud of you, and I know the others would be as well…seeing you come so far, blossoming in your own way._**

Stuart's common sense comes into play.

"You…must be the person we've heard about: Dr. Lyte."

 ** _Yes, Mr. Bennett. And this is your first training course: To defeat both yourself and everything that you aren't; your antithesis._**

 ** _Survive it… I know you can, Mr. Bennett, Mr. Crowley._**

Stuart suddenly hears Dawnavan's voice in his head… **_We can do it, Stu._**

 ** _Remember: "Stick and move, keep your feet light, and stay focused". That's how we've been doing it since day one, right?_**

…These words…register well with the impressionable Brit.

"Right you are, Dawny. Good form.

So, without further delay…" Stuart comes alive with vigor and courage, ready to exercise the full extent of his talents: Boxing, pro-wrestling, street smarts, and existence. "—I have *truly* arrived! Sorry to keep you waiting, 'other' me.

Class is now in session. Lesson start, *for real this time*!"

* * *

 _ **~ To Be Continued ~**_

* * *

 **When the moon rises,**

 _Unlikely allies, unlikely motives. The will to protect enlightens the world._

 _A valuable lesson is learned: A deadman's revenge…is a natural disaster in its own right._

 _Conditioning sees incredible heights: The power of existence blossoms…beautifully._

 _A new enemy rises from the darkness to correct the mistakes of the past._

 **Next time on The BLOOD Saga: NIGHT:**

 **:O:**

 **:O: Can't Stop My Heart :O:**

 **:O:**

 _The conquest for unity continues._


	21. A Special Moment With: Dr Lyte & Intro

**:O:**

 **:O:** **A** **S** **pecial** **M** **oment** **W** **ith…** **:O:**

 **:O:**

* * *

—Greetings, everyone! It's a pleasure to meet you!

…Tee hee! My apologies. I can get a little "loud" when I'm excited. But the feeling's right for the occasion: I, Dr. Lyte, am hosting today's Special Moment!

I must admit, I'm a little nervous. I've been in the laboratory for *years,* so things like this aren't my strong point. However, because you're all "special" to me, I'll do my *very best* to "share and care" with you. Tee hee!

Question: What do you think of my "training methods"? A little "rough," yes, but *actual* combat comes with greater consequences.

Lesson! In order to use my super-special, super-powerful, super-magnificent technology, a subject *must* be strong. Mind, body, spirit: All must be whole, or the subject will *never* be able to sync with my inventions… I forgot to mention that to Katherine, but she shouldn't hate *too much* after this, right?

Regardless, our new-bloomers, Mr. Bennett and Mr. Crowley, are showing great promise. So, there's no doubt in my mind; they'll pass with flying colors!

Also, did you *feel* that storm!? Honestly, what were those silly headhunters *thinking,* creating a hurricane out of nowhere like that? But it was *super-cool*: A miracle of modern meteorology, *but then it pissed me off in the end*!

Luckily, Dr. Farrelly "batted the eye" out of the park. And honestly, I wasn't expecting the necromancer *and* the archmagus to show up at the same time. One *could* call it "an act of fate," but coincidence is a normal part of life. Still, this promises to be an *exceptional* battle: A diviner of death vs. an envoy of the gods.

Furthermore, err…it's not that *easy* to kill a zombie. Warning: Highwaymen, watch your backs! Babyface is leading you on! Don't let him trick you…

—oh, wait, they can't hear me… Darn it! I wish they could!

But this adds to the suspense, which is good. Also, in my honest opinion, a major antagonist *falling that easily* would be an absolute fail. Estimation of disappointment: No more or less than 100%... It must be epic, creator, no excuses! Please, don't disappoint Dr. Lyte. Cute wink! Tee hee!

Alright, everyone reading along and/or listening, time for the announcements:

*Earth Day is around the corner*! Yahoo! Hooray for our beautiful planet!

Earth Day is an annual event, celebrated on 22 April, on which worldwide events are held to demonstrate support for environmental protection. It was first celebrated in 1970, and is now coordinated globally by the Earth Day Network, and celebrated in more than 193 countries each year.

In 1969 at a UNESCO Conference in San Francisco, peace activist John McConnell proposed a day to honor the Earth and the concept of peace, to first be celebrated on 21 March, 1970, the first day of spring in the northern hemisphere. This day of nature's equipoise was letter sanctioned in a proclamation written by McConnell and signed by Secretary General U Thant at the United Nations.

A month later, a separate Earth Day was founded by United States Senator Gaylord Nelson as an environmental teach-in first held on 22 April, 1970. Nelson was later awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom Award in recognition of his work. While this "22 April Earth Day" was focused on the United States, an organization launched by Denis Hayes, who was the original national coordinator in 1970, took it international in 1990 and organized events in 141 nations. Numerous communities celebrate "Earth Week," an entire week of activities focused on environmental issues that trouble the world.

This year, the landmark Paris Agreement is scheduled to be signed by the United States, China, and some 120 other countries. This signing satisfies a key requirement for the entry into force of the historic Climate Protection Treaty adopted by consensus of the 195 nations present at the 2015 United Nations Climate Change Conference in Paris. That means *this* Earth Day is an important one. Mark your calendars, people. Please, show your support… After all, this is *our* planet, and we only have one. So let's show it some love?

I would also like to apologize to everyone on the behalf of the creator: This past week has been rather hectic, so do excuse the late entry. Furthermore, we *planned* on making each volume no more than 200 pages an issue, but it seems this one might be a *little* longer than that. Each volume comprises at least four to six acts, and has the potential to spread into a seventh one. But with the last act's *massive* development, yeah…we'll be "stretching it" this time. Oh, and, after the twelfth act, we'll have a new opening theme. *What* that theme is, I'm not sure, but it won't be the previous second opening; that's not in the works.

Okay, okay, I know you're probably sick of me by now, but I have to go anyway. This concludes our announcements. Can't hog up all the time, right?

I enjoyed our Special Moment. Thank you for having me. Now, I must return to my duties. I'm a hardworking old soul: My job comes first, so you can always count me! Enjoy the rest of your read, everyone. This is Dr. Lyte, signing out!

* * *

 _ **Opening Theme:**_ _ **Heaven in the Hell**_

 _ **Artist: Mizuki Nana**_

* * *

 _ **Obel Tower, Belfast**_

 ** _9_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _23:50—W_** ** _hite Album's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Magic: Rituals or procedures associated with supernatural magic or mysticism. The use of actions to manipulate information about the natural world, especially when seen as falling outside the realm of religion; also the forces allegedly drawn on for such practices. A conjuring trick or illusion performed to give the appearance of supernatural phenomena or powers. A special kind of power or ability. Something producing remarkable results, especially when not fully understood; an enchanting quality; an exceptional skill.

Magician: A person who plays with or practices allegedly supernatural magic. A spiritualist or practitioner of mystic arts. A performer of tricks or an escapologist. An amazingly talented craftsman or scientist. A person who astounds, and is considered an enigma. "Archmages" are powerful magicians.

"Necromancers," however, are considered taboo: Diviners of death and the dead. Practitioners of sorcery or witchcraft involving death or the dead; particularly, thaumaturgy involving raising and reanimating the dead.

One thing connects them: Contracts.

Magicians contract with deities, virtuous spirits, and mythical figures. Necromancers…are contracted with **Azrael** , the angel of death.

Yuvraj and Father Kerrigan: These men are fearsome, undeniably powerful magicians. One is a human given eternal life by the god of war, the other died and rose a vampire… But despite their differences, these men are evenly matched.

 _This man has stalemated every chant I've recited._

 _I must say, I'm impressed._

 _It's a good thing I accumulated an abundance of souls before this moment: My stamina hasn't failed me yet, so I can stay in this fight for a little while longer._

"Hark, hark, the dogs do bark,

The beggars are coming to town;

Some in rags and some in drags,

And one in a velvet gown." Father Kerrigan summons a continuous volley of spherical souls, but his attack is negated by a rift projected from Yuvraj's maduvu. The archmagus' defense, the necromancer's offense: No one is winning this battle.

Yuvraj closes his eyes and casually approaches Father Kerrigan.

"Legend has it you were a school teacher before joining the church. One of your 'passions' was reading nursery rhymes to your students during naptime.

You were *forced* to become a vampire; turned by Count Orlok, who was in a fit of rage because…his son fell 'in love' with a man. But this 'love' was cosmetic: Valdo *never* loved you, he sees you as a lowly servant.

You turned back to the opposite sex to replace what he never gave you. You soon began confusing love with lust, and eventually became a demon… You've been that way for centuries; pathetic, a creature no higher than dog shit."

The necromancer looks away, emotionally struck by his opponent's insight.

It's true, he can't deny it: Father Kerrigan went from being a positive role model to being the second Nightlord's whore… Valdo killed his father because of the latter's disapproval, but Orlok rejected the relationship for something other than hate. It wasn't "hated" at all… "Valdo mastered his existence at an early age.

He used his insanity to drive his father mad, which caused him to attack you. The Old Man plotted his father's death perfectly, making it seem like an act of revenge. When really…he wanted to give himself a 'reason' to usurp the throne of the night. Much like his 'love' for you, it was all an act.

I'm sure you're asking how I know all of this… My contract, Karthikeya, sees all. Even then, the eyes of the divine were upon you.

I pity you, Kerrigan. Should the worst come from this, should either one of us die, I wanted you to know this: There are people out there that can understand you… No one deserves to be treated like trash, not even a necromancer."

 _What he just said…is frighteningly accurate. I wonder, is it divination, a strong connection with his contract…or is this another trait of his existence?_

 _Either way, his words…are even stronger than magic._

Father Kerrigan returns his eyes to the archmagus. "Thank you, young man. I now see you in a brighter light than before.

But it's too late for me to turn back now. I've committed too many sins. My soul is one with the angel of death, so I am *more* than a vampire; I am a demon.

I would ask you to fight me seriously, but it seems you've made up your mind. However, if you don't attack me, I'll turn my souls on everyone in this city." The chanter of elegies has issued a threat to provoke his opponent. But it seems Yuvraj isn't moved by Father Kerrigan's words, much to the latter's amusement. "What, are you still not taking this seriously, archmagus?"

"…I'm not the one walking into this halfheartedly, you are." Once again, Yuvraj speaks truth that strikes the necromancer's heart… Karthikeya has also revealed Father Kerrigan's reason for coming here: The sibling headhunters, who were translocated to safety by the archmagus. "Don't bother going after them. Their hearts have been crushed; thus, it's too late. 'Action' has run its course.

As the situation stands, you have lost your place in their heart."

 _…What does *he* know?_

 _Lost my place… How dare he disrespect me!_

Father Kerrigan's territory excites, his souls more vibrant than ever. His sync rate has increased… Yuvraj can sense it: As he is now, the necromancer implements at least 70% of his existence, which is enough to distort the atmosphere with a windstorm…as if Northern Ireland hasn't seen enough of this already.

"You, archmagus… What is your name?"

"…Why would you need to know that?"

"It's only proper…to know the name of the person you're about to kill."

Yuvraj smiles, realizing his opponent is serious. "There's nothing 'proper' about that. Don't mix anger with social etiquette; that's petty and immature."

In an instant, Father Kerrigan Steps forward into a fierce straight punch that would have hit the archmagus, were the latter to remain still. In a split second, Yuvraj lifted his maduvu and successfully fended against the attack.

"State…your…name!" Father Kerrigan's anger serves to amuse his opponent.

The archmagus sways his maduvu outward, repelling the necromancer and nearly cutting him with one of his blackbuck horns… "Defeat me, and I'll tell you."

The chanter of elegies recovers from the archmagus' strength, sliding across the rooftop to an eventual halt… A vampire that has descended into a demon is a dangerous creature. Despite this, Yuvraj is calm and composed, almost to the point that he's colder than ice. Nothing seems to faze him.

Even after Father Kerrigan threatened to attack the city…

 _This archmagus, this pest of a man… Who the *hell* is he!?_


	22. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (A-1)

**_Mullen Institute, Dublin_**

 ** _9 May, 2011_**

 ** _23:55—Dr. Lyte's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

 _The heart is a funny thing. Happiness, sadness, love, hatred; two sides to every emotion. This instability is what makes us human._

 _Humans and nightwalkers are similar in many ways:_

 _We play games with the heart to keep ourselves satisfied. These games are unfulfilling, however, because…no matter how many we play, win or lose… It's inevitable. The heart is *never* satisfied; it's insatiable, an unappeasable thing._

 _…To conquer oneself, one must transcend superficiality. What one "sees" is cosmetic; what one "feels" is spiritual… Becoming ideal beings of greatness: Only the scion of love and the last Kresnik can accomplish this._

The doctor sees all in the shadows of her mind: Stuart and Dawnavan's struggle against their antitheses; spectacles of wonder. Speed, strength, endurance, durability, intelligence, stamina, skill, killer instinct, and undying willpower… They're fighting like never before, pushing themselves beyond their limits.

"We…were born to unite the races, scion of love." Stuart's antithesis confesses, mentally disorienting him. The "other" self capitalizes with a skillful combination punch variation of the Sol Crusher to Stuart's jaws and stomach!

The Brit is struck to the ground, his targeted areas burning from exposure to the antithesis' solarized fists. He still has a long way to go: Stuart is strong of heart, but his mind… In so many ways, he's mentally broken.

His antithesis bypasses him, unwilling to observe Stuart's suffering.

"Stop! Don't…you dare…*walk away from this*!" Such resilience… The antithesis halts and turns, provoked by Stuart's obstinance.

"What is it, scion of love? Do we wish to continue?"

Stuart struggles to stand. With a little effort, he manages.

He's out of breath, and it hurts to move. But…

"I…must continue… *I won't give up*.

Enlighten, **Paradise**!" —he's a stubborn man. Stuart releases the superficial bounds of his existence, casting a solar territory from his recovering body.

Then, a miracle of nature occurs…

 _He's about to discover it: The power…of the Nightlord._

—Paradise's activation affects the atmosphere: The sun and the moon appear in the skies above, parting the clouds and creating a solar eclipse.

Stuart is exhibiting the might of the Von Dracula bloodline.

Valdo shouldn't be the current Nightlord. He stole that title from his father, and corrupted a world the late Count Orlok was trying to heal… Orlok hadn't given up his humanity. His heart was always with the people.

Orlok, Frederic, Christian, and Stuart: The Von Dracula bloodline is strong and virtuous, destined to unite the races. Valdo, despite his lineage, has fallen from the path… He has stained their name in the blood of mortals.

But Stuart…what his "other" self said about his name…

"Oi, can I ask you something?"

The antithesis is amused. "What is it, scion of love?"

"You say my name isn't 'Stuart;' that it's something else. This pertains to my identity as a whole, and everything that I accept as truth.

My existence, Paradise: Why does it feel…so familiar to me?"

Stuart lifts his head and meets eyes with the antithesis.

He's beyond serious, and his "other" self realizes this.

"If you wish to know, scion of love—" Before the antithesis can finish its sentence, Stuart surprises it by Stepping into a fierce series of varied strikes! Punches, kicks, blitzes from every angle: Not a single trace of the antithesis is left unstruck by Stuart's relentless assault. "I—Impossible…this strength…"

In a fit of irritation, Stuart's vampire blood excites: He sends the antithesis flying with a high-impact elbow smash! "Stop jerking me around…*and talk*!"

 _His statistics have increased. Mr. Bennett realizes the importance of his existence, and now wishes to understand more about it._

 _Adventurous, strong-willed and motivated: All qualities of the first Nightlord._

Dr. Lyte sees through the antithesis' eyes. She felt the impact of Stuart's elbow, but it didn't hurt. The Brit's attack injured his "other" self, not her.

The doctor feels the impact of the roof against her back. The scent of dust, the passing of the wind, the warmth of the eclipse: Everything feels real, but the pain is ineffective. "We…are blossoming once again, scion of love.

Beautiful. Can you…

—do you understand…*who* you are meant to be?"

"Stop speaking in riddles." Stuart approaches the fallen antithesis, grabs it by the collar with his left hand and rears his right fist to strike it unconscious. "Talk, and make sense when you do. My existence… *Why does it feel so familiar*!?"

"…It's a gift from the first Nightlord; an inheritance. The heir to the throne will be born with it. But our name… *What* is our 'true' name?" Stuart is mentally disoriented once again, giving the antithesis another opening: It places its right hand against his chest, and… "Release, **CM Ejector**!"

—casts a storm of coronal plasma that repulses Stuart, throwing him over the edge of the building!

"Guh, huh…AAH—!"

He feels the pain, the agony… This release, the CM Ejector, is related to heliophysics: The physics of the sun and its interactions with objects within the heliosphere. His existence…for it to be capable of something like this…

 _Mr. Bennett is the inheritor of the Nightlord's power: The wonders of heliophysics. His existence, Paradise, serves as a medium._

 _He is the heir to the throne of the night._

 _Scratch that. Mr. Bennett should *already* be the ruler of this world. At the very least, preparing to be coronated. But this was deterred: Count Valdo *fears* Mr. Bennett…because he knows what he's capable of._

 _This is nothing to him. His lineage is stained in blood, but purified by a symbol of greatness: Action, vibrance, vitality… Mr. Bennett, you must remember who you are._

 _What is your *true* name?_

* * *

 ** _Mullen Institute, Dublin_**

 ** _10 May, 2011_**

 ** _00:00—Dr. Lyte's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

Meanwhile, Dawnavan's struggle against his antithesis… It seems one-sided, given his inexperience, but his wounds aren't serious.

His "other" self is fast, *too* fast in fact.

The field of anemones is bloodstained. But not only blood has tainted these flowers, there's another impurity among them.

 _His emotions… Mr. Crowley's heart is tainted with negativity._

 _Loss, depression, the feeling of being defeated, never achieving anything, always at the bottom of the barrel: This child, despite his connections, has never known what it means to be victorious. He only knows failure._

 _His loyalty has kept him in this battle; endurance is definitely his strong point. But that alone cannot win this war… Fortunately, Mr. Crowley is bred from those who have defied limitation; nightwalkers born to achieve greatness._

 _I believe in him, everyone does._

 _Even if he doesn't believe in himself, he has what it takes to overcome doubt: The courage given to him by his loved ones. A power that defies all odds._

"Are we tired now? Honestly…

—this isn't the extent of our power. Get serious!" The antithesis engages Dawnavan once again, Stepping beyond the limits of his perception.

But suddenly, he feels something: The intense need to move. And he does… Daring to embrace his instincts, Dawnavan leaps leftward and evades the antithesis' advancement. On top of this, he can see its movements: His "other" self bounded forward into flight. However, something is strange…

—very strange indeed. Just a moment ago, Dawnavan couldn't see the antithesis' methods of movement. But this doesn't seem to be an issue anymore. He wrestles with what to make of this sudden ability.

"Our lineage is swift but steadfast in its pursuit for peace. Enslavement does that to the soul: The desire for freedom, liberty from condemnation." The antithesis flaps its wings, and alters its course to pursue the airborne Dawnavan. He recovers from his escape by rolling, then leaps forward into another roll to reverse his position. Dawnavan excels at evasion, so much that it seems as if…

 _He's avoiding direct contact with the antithesis. Mr. Crowley lacks the heart to confront himself. At first, he struck with brute force, but, as time progressed, he lost the will to fight back… He doubts himself to this extent?_

—he's running away from himself. The agony of the past: It's too much for him. This pain…is deterring him from moving forward.

The antithesis capitalizes on this, taking to the air with a flap of its wings, and and diving towards Dawnavan with its talons extended… He knows what it's trying to do: The antithesis plans to swoop down and grab him. Dawnavan can see its movements; thus, he dares to do something foolish… "Alright. Here I go!"

—he runs forward, purposely engaging his antithesis.

This comes as a shock, even to himself. "—!? Interesting.

Have we reclaimed our will to fight?"

"Of course not. But I can't die here!"

"…We still have a long way to—" The antithesis is silenced by Dawnavan's speed. In a flash, he Steps into a leap that levels him with his "other" self, and delivers a spinning sidekick to its chest. The brute force of his advancement launches the antithesis through the air, and downward…to an eventual crash.

 _Liberation, to end all forms of captivity and enslavement…including the condemnation of the heart. To ensure good health, harvest and happiness: The Kresnik symbolizes these things and much, much more._

 _Bred from darkness to serve the light. Their lineage lies with the moon. Emotion, mystery, intuition: Attributes he all those before him exemplify._

Dawnavan suddenly undergoes an eerie transformation: From his back sprouts wings, but they're quite unlike what one would expect… These wings are made of his own blood, and appear to have special attributes.

They're solid, yet their origins are that of a liquid. These wings of blood are but a staple of his contract, which allows him to fly like his ancestors… The antithesis recovers from his blitz, amazed by Dawnavan's growth.

"Good, we've discovered this much. But like all bats, we cannot ascend like a bird. We must already be airborne.

That is why we must be quick: The witches gave us strong legs to outmaneuver even the fastest nightwalker… Our speed is our strength. Never forget that!" The antithesis motions to stand, but Dawnavan surprises it once again: He Steps forward and places his right foot on the "other" self's chest, keeping it grounded. Dominance… His ancestors were forgiving, but also demanded respect.

"I understand completely: I'm bred from Kresniks, vampire hunters. This has been burned into the back of my mind. I can't deny it…even if I want to.

But I'm not a killer! What happened back then—" Denial creates an opening the antithesis capitalizes on: It exercises its contract, releasing a geyser of blood from its frame that launches Dawnavan into the sky. "Guh, DAAH—!"

Then, the antithesis recovers by flipping to its feet, Steps into the air and punishes Dawnavan with continuous blitzes: Clawings that serve to remind him of his lineage. Every swipe is chastising… "We…*are eaters of vampires*.

Smite the evil…by consuming it! *We must understand this*!"

 _Mr. Crowley has progressed, but he's hindered by the past: The guilt of what happened on that night… He believes he's responsible for his father's death._

 _But he isn't. The Old Man, Count Valdo, is to blame for that._

 _You must accept this, Mr. Crowley. Release these horrible feelings, they're not your burden to carry… You weren't responsible, despite your retaliation. And your mother…even this wasn't your fault. Mr. Crowley…please…_

 _—you must release this guilt, or it will surely kill you._


	23. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (A-2)

**_O_** ** _bel_** ** _T_** ** _ower,_** ** _B_** ** _elfast_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _00:05—_** ** _Y_** ** _uvraj's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Every corner of Belfast is plagued by Father Kerrigan's territorial laws. The windstorm it incites… It's cold, a deathly chill. Breathing alone presents a challenge, much like the final moments before one passes away.

Despite the odds pitted against him, Yuvraj endures the pressure: The archmagus' defenses have cost him dearly, just as much as they have his opponent. Father Kerrigan's offenses have expended a large portion of his souls; thus, his releases have weakened. "Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,

Your house is on fire, and your children are gone;

All except one, and that's little Anne,

For she crept under the frying pan." The necromancer recites a rhyme that invokes souls from the roofing beneath Yuvraj. Fortunately, the magician is a man of many talents: In an instant, Yuvraj fades from existence and reappears behind Father Kerrigan, surprising him! "W—What is this!?"

The only answer the cleric gets is aggression. "Hah, ah—!"

Yuvraj initiates a close-range struggle with him, testing Father Kerrigan's martial prowess… His approach mainly consists of calculative kicks, and a varied counteroffensive assault with his maduvu; a method that serves well against the seasoned necromancer. Father Kerrigan is undeniably skilled: He outmaneuvers his opponent, proving he's more than just nursery rhymes and ghosts.

 _As expected of a vampire: A breed feared for its primal instinct. Killers…nightwalkers that know only the pleasure of the hunt._

 _What a pathetic soul… This diviner of death struggles not of his own accord. His heart is bound to the Old Man, Count Valdo. Should the Nightlord will it, he would sacrifice himself without a second thought._

"Fall…accursed magician!" Father Kerrigan tries to power his way out of Yuvraj's attack pattern, which is a daring move. However, this backfires on him: The magician fades from existence once again, escaping the brutality of his claws, and reappears to the necromancer's left… He capitalizes with a fierce left-hand chop to the back of the necromancer's head. "Doh—! Guh…hah…"

The magician takes a moment to observe the grounded cleric.

To fall this easily: Father Kerrigan has indeed expended a sizable portion of his souls. His ghostly territory has also weakened, proven by its dying winds. Yuvraj pities him to an extent, but not enough to forgive him of his sins.

"If you are the church's #2, then its #1 shouldn't be a problem. I had hoped my words would reach your heart, but I was never good at convincing others. As a magician, this is the only trick I can't perform… Goodnight, necromancer!"

Mercilessly, Yuvraj stabs Father Kerrigan through the back with one one of his blackbuck horns, piercing through his heart! However…

—something is wrong: His horn should have parted the cleric's flesh and struck blood, but it hasn't. Instead, an empty space is there.

It's as if Yuvraj has pierced through a cluster of air.

 _I have the ability to erase time and existence, and I can also piece these things back together again. But never have I seen such wonders._

 _This man… What has he done to himself?_

The magician receives an alarming answer: Father Kerrigan's body becomes transparent, no more or less lighter than air. He then stands and walks forward, cool, calm and collected. Yuvraj observes his opponent, confused and curious.

"That…was one of your releases, I presume?"

His curiosity brings Father Kerrigan to a halt. "Yes, magician."

"I'm impressed. But now you're too weak to fight."

"I know that, I won't deny it. You've pushed me to the limit, and garnered my respect. Personally, I enjoyed this… Unfortunately, I haven't earned the right to know your name." The ghostly cleric turns and gives Yuvraj his attention, as his windstorm completely dies down… The remainder of his collected souls returns to his body, becoming one with his spirit. "But could you…

—will you tell me where you hid those boys?"

 _He's referring to Dead Motion._

 _…_ _I won't tell him…_

 _After our battle, he's lost at least 85% of his reserves. With his power in such a critical state, he won't be able to sense their presence for a few days… This will give them enough time to heal and make a decision._

"I know you feel responsible for them. But after allowing their people to die… Leave this place, necromancer. Return to your 'master'." Yuvraj strikes the chanter of elegies once again, speaking nothing but truth.

This gravely offends Father Kerrigan.

"And should I choose to attack the city?"

"If you do so, you would risk losing your soul. Therefore, should you choose to *die,* I will not mourn… Azrael will be happy to add you to its collection." With that said, Yuvraj has definitely won this battle. Father Kerrigan retires by disappearing, becoming one with the wind and escaping the scene. And…

—not a moment too soon.

Yuvraj finally calms his existential force, and reveals his wounds: Throughout the course of their battle, he protected himself by erasing every critical strike he suffered from existence. He knew that once he lowered his sync rate, the wounds would return… He risked these odds to ensure everyone's safety.

 _I'll be fine. These wounds opened because… This is what happens when one fights for others: You risk your life…like a fool._

 _That pathetic man is powerful: If I hadn't erased time and faded from existence for those moments, I would have died… These wounds are *scratches* compared to what could have been. That I cannot deny, sadly._

" **Divy logon, mere ghaavon ko changa.** " The magician beseeches the divine via his contract, and erases the time it took for Father Kerrigan to injure him. As a result, it never happened; thus, his wounds are no more.

Suddenly, he feels a familiar presence…

"Boy! You really know how to impress." —one that lifts him from prostration, turns him and reveals a pleasant sight: Stephen, Natalie and Theodore have joined him atop the building. The mother steps forward and extends her hand. "You just saved our keesters from the fire. Thanks a lot, Dhesi."

The magician is a bit confused. "Aren't you suffering?"

"Not as long as the doctor is around." For their wounds to have healed so quickly: Stephen is undoubtedly a masterful healer… Yuvraj refuses to disrespect them any further. He shakes Natalie's hand, but his expressions are doused in guilt.

 _This is awkward… Even after I attacked them, they're showing me kindness?_

 _How embarrassing._

 _Infinity is a strange bunch. But I shouldn't complain._

"Are you alright, Dhesi?"

Yuvraj is awoken from deep thought by the sound of Theodore's voice.

He takes a moment to think, but… "Yes, I'm fine. My spirit is at ease.

My apologies about before. I hope we get along from here."

—he doesn't have to think at all. This is the path he has chosen: To realize his contract's desires… Yuvraj will start by reclaiming his place among his friends.


	24. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (A-3)

**_S_** ** _ydney_** ** _O_** ** _pera_** ** _H_** ** _ouse,_** ** _S_** ** _ydney_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _00:14—_** ** _F_** ** _our's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

 **The Sydney Opera House** : A multi-venue performing arts centre, identified as one of the 20th century's most distinctive buildings.

The building and its surroundings occupy the whole of Bennelong Point in Sydney Harbor, between Sydney Cove and Farm Cove, adjacent to the central business district and the Royal Botanic Gardens, and is close by the Sydney Harbor Bridge… If they had arrived earlier, the Highwaymen might have witnessed a live performance of Georges Bizet's Carmen. Unfortunately, security would have turned them away, so, if they wanted to attend the play, they'd have to sneak in.

"I wonder when this'll all be over." Four presents a statement that emotionally registers with her comrades. From their standpoint, this is a good question:

When *will* the war end? It's hard to say for sure, but, as they observe the mystery of Sydney Harbor, their hearts feel a similar warmth… A precious dream that is shared, pondered and pursued by many.

 _I'd like to come back here…without feeling like an outcast. Gideonites at every turn, it's a wonder we're able to rest here for a bit… Fortunately, with Babyface out of the picture, Sydney should lighten up in a few weeks._

"There are plenty of ways to end this: Kill the Nightlord, cut down his resources, pick the church off one-by-one, surrender, issue a treaty, the list goes on. But with the way things are between us, nothing will change anytime soon." One says this dejectedly. Perhaps uncried tears, bottled up since…"that night".

"The people will open their eyes, someday.

But who knows? Maybe they already have, and are looking for a way out."

Four responds as if she's trying to convince herself more than her comrades.

A passing wind brushes the harbor, causing its waters to dance and ripple… Unfortunately, this doesn't set well with Two. "—!? This breeze…

Impossible! There's no way in hell!"

"Curiouser and curiouser." Three notices something peculiar trailing in the wind: Specs of sand originating from the west. "Hm…imagination is a weapon no doubt."

In wake of Three's statement, the Highwaymen sense a powerful existence due east. This presence is strong enough to bring them to their feet.

Furthermore, its blood metre coverage…spans the entire city.

 _This wind is malevolent. And this sand… Where is coming from?_

"I suppose you believe I'm long gone by now. But you're *dead* wrong, Infinity."

A familiar voice sounds from the east, and earns both the Highwaymen's attention and their dread.

In the distance…stands Babyface, in one piece!

This is unexpected indeed:

The Methuselah squad thought the zombie was done for, but he survived One's assault somehow… They didn't sense his arrival until just a few moments ago. Questions of "how" and "why" arise, but are incapable of being expressed.

 _One destroyed this thing. I'm more than *sure* he did._

 _However, it…is still alive?_

 _To survive something like that: What kind of existence does Babyface have?_

"The proof was in the pudding all along." One finally speaks up, earning his comrades' indirect attention.

Two is intrigued by One's statement.

"What are you talking about, old man?"

"Sand: Rock grounded more finely than gravel, but not as fine as silt. It forms beaches and deserts, and is *also* used in 'construction'.

When dusty britches activated his existence, he constructed a wall of serpents to kill me instantly. But they were nothing more than a pile of sand.

I should have payed better attention from the start.

Not only can he make constructs, he can also break things down…including *his own body*. Since he's a zombie, decomposition is a natural thing. *Recomposition,* on the other hand… This is his weakness. There's no doubt about it."

One's hypothesis tickles Babyface.

"Fufufufufu…hahahahahaha!

Impressive 'idea'. But you know *nothing* about my existence." To further demonstrate his existential might, Babyface manipulates his sand to devastating proportions: He amasses it into a large vortex that operates as a vacuum.

This storm…violently absorbs anything nearby into it. Even the opera house is in danger of being leveled the vortex!

The Highwaymen are unable to resist the sandstorm's suction. It instantly overpowers them, as it developed much quicker than they could react.

 _Damn it! I…can't…breathe…_

The storm not only consists of sand, it also contains water and recess from the harbor. Though they may be cyborgs, the Highwaymen are still human… Their bodies won't be able to stand Tender Lover's sandstorm for much longer.

"Release, **In-spite**.

By focusing my existence to a 45% sync rate, I, Babyface, can create a storm of sand that destroys *everything* caught in its vortex.

The water from this harbor is dirty, all thanks to its people. There's sure to be *plenty* of extra dirt, grime, trash, and diseases in it. Your reconstructed bodies are *nothing* compared to a true nightwalker's. So…with that said…

—goodnight, Infinity dogs! Fufufu…hahahahahahaha!" The zombie has gone mad with power. But this isn't confidence or arrogance, this…is fear.

The second Nightlord, Count Valdo, derogatorily addressed as "The Old Man," plunges all in his midst into the depths of madness. His existence *is* madness; the state of being insane; mental instability.

Babyface is one of many who would discard all scruples, virtues, morals and values for his cause…because he *fears* the Nightlord. Fear and madness: This is the gift of the Nightlord, and all who partake of it… "All hail…Count Valdo."

—achieve untold power… All except for one.

* * *

 ** _Ferryman Trading Co., Sydney_**

 ** _10 May, 2011_**

 ** _00:20—?'s Perspective_**

 **:-:**

 ** _Open your eyes, my child. Your mind has been set free._**

A voice awakens someone from the ashes of ruin.

To this person, everything's a blur: They don't remember what happened, where they are, or how they got here in the first place.

"Mm…mm, mm…"

The person pushes themself up from the cold, hard ground where they are laid.

Everything is dark, and the only light given shines through windows lined across walls to the north and the south. The light of the blood moon… But once this person's senses recover completely, it hears the sound of rumbling in the distance.

A "windy" rumbling, and the sound of swishing…like that of water.

"What…in the world?" The person attempts to stand, but they're still too disoriented to stay afoot. They collapse. "Damn it! My head…"

 ** _Don't force yourself. Hypnosis has that effect on humans._**

The person hears the voice from before once again. One so gentle, so calming… But ironically, this voice sounds familiar.

"Who…are you?"

 ** _Your employer. I put you to sleep, so you could infiltrate the enemy camp._**

 ** _Congratulations, child. You've done a fine job. Though you remember nothing, which is good… It's better that way._**

"'Better'? I…don't understand…"

 ** _You don't have to. But I will tell you this: Your efforts were voluntary._**

 ** _Everything you've accomplished here was of your own doing. The only assistance you required was immunity towards fear and madness. But the more you stayed in the enemy camp, the more you felt fear, the more you felt madness._**

 ** _It's impossible to escape these things. No matter how hard we try, eluding and hiding from something only leads us closer to it. This sleeper mission was designed to a shut Ferryman down, but also to teach you a valuable lesson._**

Stability finally returns to the person, as well as some recollection about their current situation. "Right, now I remember:

I've been a radical for over seven years now. After retiring from the services, the church pretty much kicked me to the curb.

I almost went homeless. But then…*you* found me, and gave me a job."

 ** _Ah, right. So, you remember that much already?_**

 ** _That's good, I'm glad._**

The person crawls forward and finds a wall. This wall is used to climb back to a standing position, since they're still a little dizzy.

"Mm…mm…mm!"

Once the person manages to stand properly, they look out the window in front of them… In the distance, they see it: Tender Lover's storm in Sydney Harbor, just aside the opera house. "—!? How…is this even possible?"

 ** _This is Babyface's existence: It can manipulate sand, dirt and any form of grime to chaotic proportions. This release is of the A-class. But should the sun shine upon the zombie, it could level all of Australia in the blink of an eye._**

The person's fists tighten upon the windowpane, and its eyes close with fear.

"…Nightwalkers…are dangerous."

 ** _And so are humans, empowered or not. Everyone is capable; harmony, genocide, liberation, enslavement, peace, destruction… Humans aren't powerless and weak._**

 ** _Nightwalkers are dangerous, this is true. But don't belittle yourself because you see something like *this*. In my day, I saw worse._**

 ** _Be thankful you're still alive to witness this, Lewis._**

Yes, the revived is none other than the major. The person speaking to her telepathically is her employer: A faceless radical and a personal contact.

To some extent, this person is also her friend.

"Are the people going to be okay?"

Major Lewis' greatest concern lies with the citizens. Should any one of them be unfortunate enough to be near Tender Lover's storm… **_The night watchmen at the opera house should be done for. But that's not all._**

"—? Who else…is there?"

 ** _Four of our own are there._**

"*Us*? Do you know which ones?"

 ** _The Highwaymen. MT Units One, Two, Three and Four._**

 ** _You had a little tussle with Three, and that's why you fell unconscious. That old loon listened to me for once: I told him to put you to sleep, and he did._**

"So…what happened before I fell asleep…

—I still can't remember… Probably doesn't even matter now."

 _Half wrong, half right: The purpose matters, but the action has run its course._

 _What she "accomplished" has aided our cause a great deal. But people are fickle and cold: Even if one manages to save millions, their efforts would be forgotten with time. That's the kind of world we live in._

 _However, humans are "human". No matter how many times they seek new and adventurous things, one truth is for certain: They'll *always* need a helping hand. And that's where Infinity comes into play._

 ** _Stay your eyes on this storm, child. Keep watch, don't turn away._**

 ** _These are your brethren…at their strongest._**

"Strongest? How?

You mean…they're *still alive*...inside *that* thing?" Major Lewis pays close attention to the storm in the distance, uncertain of what will happen next.

 ** _The power of love is dangerous: It influences, unites, destroys and rebuilds nations. Its abilities are limitless… But there are times when love isn't enough; an even greater power is needed. What that power is depends on the person._**

 ** _Lewis, you, too, have a power like we nightwalkers. It's not existence, it's your quality as a human. I wonder…what you're truly capable of._**

This is something to ponder indeed.

As humans, what *are* we truly capable of? Not based on the opinions and perspectives of others… This is a question we ask ourselves at least once in our lifetime: What can I, as a person, do to make a change?

Against one capable of causing natural disasters… "Humph. It *is* a wonder."

—what could a normal human do?


	25. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (A-4)

**_E_** ** _uropa_** ** _H_** ** _otel,_** ** _B_** ** _elfast_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _00:28—_** ** _F_** ** _ather_** ** _K_** ** _errigan's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

The midnight hour has never been more crueler.

A blood moon shining upon death-ridden soil: This isn't a world where one can find happiness and keep it.

Father Kerrigan thought he found it once. But this was a lie… A cruel lie: To believe a monster like the second Nightlord would *ever* care about him.

"That magician…saw right through me."

He has returned to his hotel room, but he doesn't plan to stay there. After what happened atop the Obel Tower, how could he remain in Belfast?

 _That was the second most humiliating moment of my life. In every way, that man made a fool out of me… How could I lose? Me, shamed by a mere magician?_

 _The Nightlord will not have this. It's best to steer clear of him._

The necromancer reclaims his opaqueness, and takes a seat on his bed. He instantly joins his head with his right hand, frustrated and embarrassed.

"This is stupid…" He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to forget the sins he committed. But he can't… The number is too great. The extents he went to commit them…are too far. "—all those people, for nothing. Sometimes, I scare myself.

Am I *really* this small a man? To be so incapable: Have I lost my touch?"

His reflection is interrupted by the sound of leaking waterdrops… The sound comes from his hotel bathroom.

"—? Humph. How unexpected. Europa is costly.

One would think they'd hire better help. I'll make a complaint before I leave." Father Kerrigan stands from his bed and ventures to the said location, where he tightens the faucets therein: First, the shower, then, the bathroom sink.

 _A waste of euros. What the devil was I thinking?_

Suddenly, the leaking returns…

—drip after annoying drip. From the shower, from the bathroom sink: Neither should be happening right now. The handles have been tightened to their limits.

"What poor maintenance this is. I shall take my leave."

Father Kerrigan motions to leave the bathroom, but…the door is shut, which isn't possible because he left it open when he entered the room. Furthermore, if it were to close, the door's rusted bolting would cause a creaking sound.

He didn't hear any creaking, nor did he hear the door shut.

 ** _Enjoying your getaway, White Album?_** A voice comes from the bathroom mirror, but it doesn't startle Father Kerrigan. It does, however, earn his attention.

He recognizes this voice… " **Sister Coraline** , why are you bothering me?"

The image of a nun dressed in an ultramarine habit appears in the mirror.

Upon her face is a mask quite similar to Sister Estelle's.

 ** _My apologies, White Album, but I've been sent to pick up where you left off. You're in no shape to continue, my friend._**

"…Did the Nightlord send you?"

 ** _No, but it is a favor. I'm a charitable woman that cares for the elderly._**

"Sister Coraline, you're twenty years younger than me. You, woman, are no less an 'elder' than I. And I don't need your 'charity'."

 ** _Ah, but I'm afraid you do._** Father Kerrigan goes quiet, realizing the nun knows more than what she's letting on. **_The Nightlord plans to leave his chateau tomorrow evening. He'll be visiting his family grave in Transylvania._**

 ** _Should he catch ear from one of our gossipy peers, he'd make a detour just to come see you. And trust me, White Album, you wouldn't want to meet him under such circumstances… It would be a most unpleasant rendezvous._**

 _For a nun, this woman is insufferable. Mouthy little water witch._

"Do what you want, Sister Coraline. I'm not stopping you.

Besides, I'd rather avoid the Nightlord anyhow."

 ** _Oh? And why is that?_**

"Don't worry about that. Now release me from this room!" This is the first time Father Kerrigan has lost his temper with one of his own. It's shocking… For him to raise his voice to a nun: Surely, he's troubled by something.

 ** _…_** ** _As you wish._**

Sister Coraline decreases her sync rate, revealing the closed door to be nothing more than an illusion. So, this means he wasn't trapped at all… Sister Coraline was just playing with him, no doubt to lighten up his morning.

 _This woman… No matter the age, she's still playing games._

 _But I don't have time for her. I have some important things to take care of._

Important indeed.

Father Kerrigan has so much to complete before returning to Rutherford.

Finding Dead Motion is at the top of his list. If he doesn't return with them, the cleric would surrender to the fact that he lost against Yuvraj.

His sacred robes have been torn and bloodied. Personally, he's surprised: Sister Coraline didn't ridicule him, which is abnormal. Considering he looks a mess, people like her would jump to the occasion.

He enters the bedroom, closing the bathroom door on his way in.

"Bested by a lowly wizard… How mortifying! I won't let this pass."

Father Kerrigan focuses, increasing his sync rate to 25%. This causes a small portion of his ghostly reserves to envelop his body, and repair his wounds in an instant. After the deed is done, the souls return to his spirit.

 _All credit for this trick is due to "a-certain-someone". Yet another reason to feel bad about tonight… Seems like my life is plagued by regrets._

* * *

 ** _?_**

 ** _10 May, 2011_**

 ** _00:35—Sister Coraline's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

Word is already spreading:

Father Kerrigan left to monitor Dead Motion's progression, but failed. The sibling headhunters have been taken into custody, and Father Kerrigan lost a contest against a person still considered "unallied" by the church: Yuvraj.

A few loose lips in Belfast reported his failure. Considering how gossipy the church is, this information is subject to change.

"Is he holding up well?"

In the darkness of an unknown room, Sister Coraline stands in the company of a dark figure lounging in an indoor spring. This enigma is intrigued by the nun's conversation with the necromancer, which was conducted through an enchanted mirror. She turns to answer the dark figure.

"He's upset, which is to be expected. It's a good thing you ordered our followers to keep their mouths shut. Should the Nightlord discover—"

"He won't, Cora. I made sure of it."

The dark figure folds its legs and lays its head back on a stone.

 _Bless his heart. He sure seems adamant about supporting the old boy… No, no, I don't have time to procrastinate._

"I must take my leave now. If you need me, I'll be at the old village."

Sister Coraline's straightforwardness lifts the enigma to its feet, revealing a bare and toned frame drenched in spring water. The nun it taken aback by this sudden gesture, especially since she's in the company of a church leader.

"Cora…"

"Yes, your holiness?"

"—don't be so hasty. Our spy has reported 'no activity' for a month.

If you wish to plan ahead, that's fine. But why spend a month in a ghost town when you can enjoy the luxuries of my mansion?"

The dark figure opens its eyes, revealing gentle blue irises.

Sister Coraline is well aware of how flirtatious her superior can be. But instead of acting insubordinate, the nun chooses to make an honest statement.

"My apologies, your holiness. That 'ghost town' is my home. I find peace there. It's a place where I can be…free.

So, if you don't mind, I'd rather spend time there."

 _I can't believe a man of his standard would make a pass at me. Then again, it's not a secret: His holiness is a lonely man. Honestly, I feel bad about leaving him alone here, but I can't risk it… I must leave this place at once._

"Suit yourself, Cora. Either way, I expect positive results from you."

The dark figure kneels and descends into the spring, submerging itself up to its neck… Sister Coraline turns away, unaffected by the figure's virile wiles.

"May God be with you, your holiness."

Seeing her leave awakens a cold feeling in the dark figure. In response to this, it submerges the rest of its body into the spring.

As Sister Coraline departs from the dark room through an adjacent hallway, her mind animates with uneasy thoughts.

 _I am more than just a daughter of God. I'm a priestess; a holy virgin. To think his holiness would behave so provocatively with me: Blasphemous!_

 _I'm his disciple, yes, but I will not tolerate any foolishness. God's house is a house of worship, not carnal pleasure. Even when in the wilderness…_

"—I will not falter. All must be cleansed, in the name of God."

It seems things will be "quiet" for a while.

But still…anything could happen, even in midst of silence.

* * *

 **:O:**

 **:O: The BLOOD Saga: Night :O:**

 **:O:**


	26. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (B-1)

**_S_** ** _ydney_** ** _O_** ** _pera_** ** _H_** ** _ouse,_** ** _S_** ** _ydney_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _00:40—_** ** _B_** ** _abyface's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Local surveillance has caught eye of Tender Lover's storm in Sydney Harbor.

It remains stationary, but the impact it made will never be forgotten: An international landmark…decimated in minutes.

The opera house is no more… Decades of memories, gone.

"I know the country won't forgive me for this, but I could care less.

Infinity is our enemy. Their destruction will appease the Nightlord, Count Valdo. To achieve this, I will discard everything I love… ** _even my people_**."

A glint of crimson appears in Babyface's eyes, a gentle glow like the light of the blood moon. But this glow… Something is dreadfully wrong about it, and his final words, "even my people," weren't spoken with his normal voice.

He sounded like a completely different person.

" ** _Destroy it all…destroy…_**

 ** _In the name of the Nightlord_** , ruler of this wo—" His reverence is brought to a pause simultaneously with the return of his original voice.

 _What…is this increase in existential force?_

It should be impossible… To increase one's sync rate, one must be completely aware. Their mind, body and soul must be one.

Existence is as its name implies: The power of one's life force; one's beinghood. As all nightwalkers are either posthumous life forms or those bound to death, their existence is tied a variable state of being. To ascend is to find freedom, but there are those who have descended… Babyface is one of the latter.

Madness plunges the spirit into the darkness of the true self. Insanity is a piece of the heart suppressed by the illusion called "morality": The distinction between good and evil, right and wrong; respect for and obedience to the rules of proper conduct; the mental disposition or characteristic of behaving in a manner intended to produce morally good results… Morality is the leading ideology of humanity, but this system of belief has been corrupted over the ages.

The ascended aim to perpetuate morality, but their methods are also corrupt: They, too, have taken lives…just as much as the descended.

"You are no different from us. So how?

 ** _Where do you get this power from!?_** " Babyface's mentality shifts once again, before Tender Lover's storm is disbursed by an explosion of air… Two employed his artificial existence much sooner than the zombie expected.

It happened the moment Babyface applied the In-Spite release: Two began circulating his existential currents with that of the storm, creating a defensive shell of solidified air that ceased the Highwaymen's suffering.

He only needed to keep his sync rate at a mere 2% to complete this task.

Three supplemented the effects of Two's release by coating his defenses with existential flower petals. His assistance camouflaged the squad's augmentation of their unique abilities. Once the Methuselahs' existences reached their peak, they were able to summon special "helpers" to aid them.

 **Familiars** : Attendant animal spirits employed for specific purposes. Methuselahs are granted familiars for the purpose of accessing the depths of their existential force. Much like contracts, familiars tend to the combative needs of their summoner. But there are other uses for them outside of battle.

Babyface realizes what this means: The Highwaymen are serious, and are no longer holding back against the rampaging zombie.

"MT Familiar, lineup." One initiates a roll call. " **Okami the Wolf**!"

" **Hebi the Snake**!" Two seconds.

" **Kitsune the Fox**!" Three continues.

" **Kuma the Bear**!" Four concludes.

Babyface feels their power… It's massive. Enough to instantly decimate him.

 _They had *this* much… Impossible! There's no way…_

 _—_ _absolutely no way in hell…!_

"Release, **Breaking Love**!"

The zombie attempts a preemptive strike, summoning a storm of sand to crush his enemies to death!

However… "MT Familiars, **Greatest Howl**. Fire!"

—One initiates the decisive blow: A concentrated concussive wave of existential force, unleashed from the familiars' opened mouths, aimed directly at the oncoming Breaking Love release.

Flowers of the earth, winds and thunders of heaven, light of the spirit: Methuselahs are more than weapons of mass destruction, they are apostles; powerful advocates of Infinity's mission…to unite the races.

In an instant, Babyface's Breaking Love…is *literally* broken. The Methuselahs' Greatest Howl release lays waste to the zombie, consuming him its brilliance!

"N-no…NO! This can't be… I…

—help me, Count Valdo…!"

Not a single trace is left behind.

The Highwaymen have completed their mission: Babyface's existential force has vanished; hence, he is no more… The zombie has been exterminated.

All that remains of the zombie is the pellet in One's possession. Proof of Babyface's defeat.

The squad leader draws the pellet from his jacket, observes it and smiles.

"Good job, cowpokes. But…" One faces the ruined Sydney Opera House, displeased by what became of the historical landmark. "—talk about bittersweet. Leaves a hole in your heart it does."

"Yes, and there's nothing we can do about it. This is a church settlement, so…

—we should get going. I'm heading out first."

Ever the cold one, Two augments his jets and departs. Three and Four follow shortly thereafter.

One, on the other hand… "May God accept you into His kingdom."

—has difficulty accepting the fatalities accumulated throughout the night. He departs nonetheless, knowing that staying behind will do him no good.

* * *

 ** _Ferryman Trading Co., Sydney_**

 ** _10 May, 2011_**

 ** _00:45—Major Lewis's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

 _That… That was…incredible…_

The power of existence makes for quite the spectacle indeed.

Major Lewis has witnessed it before, but never has she seen a more beauteous sight: The majesty of the Highwaymen's Greatest Howl.

 ** _You seem shocked._**

 ** _Were you not expecting this?_** Her employer has yet to leave her, which is a good thing considering her current position.

"No… No, I wasn't.

But I'm glad it happened. If they didn't stop Babyface when they did…"

She's right to feel this way: Sydney could've been completely leveled by Tender Lover's In-Spite release.

The opera house has been destroyed, along with the night watchmen employed to keep it secure. Unfortunately, they were forcibly "clocked out;" their lives were taken by a creature who once swore to protect the city.

 ** _Madness and fear go hand-in-hand. They cannot be separated._**

 ** _Babyface was once a virtuous soul, but that was long before he became a nightwalker… Long before he met the man that changed his life forever._**

"…The Nightlord?" Major Lewis takes a guess.

 ** _Yes, the ruler of this world. A man revered as a god by the weak of heart… Count Valdo and his clerics have power over the people._**

 ** _But that is what makes them weak._**

"How so?"

 ** _They depend on the love of humans to keep them whole._** As Major Lewis ponders these words, it makes sense: The church employs people to do their bidding, and uses intimidation to keep them loyal.

 _They…depend on the love of humans? The Nightlord and his clerics?_

 _…Yes…yes, that does make sense._

 _There are so many of us and a limited number of them… But numbers mean nothing. Just one cleric is enough to demolish an entire army._

 _So that means…_

"…There's another way to earn the people's trust."

Major Lewis makes quite the statement.

 ** _What do you have in mind?_**

"It's a little embarrassing, but…

—when I was younger, I was in a musical group called **The Yayas**. It was a band of four: My friend, Yolanda, was the guitarist; her cousin, Yvette, was on drums; our classmate and neighbor, Amber, worked the synthesizer; and me…

—I was the lead singer. But I wasn't about hogging the spotlight: Yolanda had a great voice, and she was the one that kept the group together."

Major Lewis' face flushes at the thought of confessing something so personal. Considering her current status, one wouldn't expect a secret like this from a soldier. Then again, one should never judge a book by its cover.

 ** _Are you…proposing that we should start a band of our own?_**

"Well…yes, I am. Music is a universal language after all.

If Infinity had a band, we could spread our message to the people. We could also start a non-profit organization to assist Gideon refugees.

I…know it sounds stupid, but…it's a start, right?"

 ** _What's "stupid" about the language of music? That was a very impressive suggestion, Lewis, and I'll be sure to look into it._**

 ** _All I have to do is run this by my peers. I can't promise you anything, but, considering the possibilities of what may come of this, I'm sure they'll agree. The only problem would be gathering talent._**

Major Lewis comes up with an idea off the top of her head. "We can start a talent search. That's sure to get us somewhere.

Also, we'll need good management. I'm still really close to Yolanda, but I haven't heard from the others in years… Time creates distance, I suppose."

 _Distance: The one thing preventing humans from uniting against our oppressors._

 _The Yayas were rebels._

 _We resisted societal injustice through our music. But after I enlisted in the services and Yolanda married her husband, we went our separate ways._

 _We accomplished our mission back then, but I'm pretty sure our town is back to being the way it was before: Oppressed…by "that woman"._

Major Lewis pumps herself up by swatting her cheeks. She then balls her fists, and begins acting like her normal self: A charming young woman.

"I'm a musician. Being a soldier was never in the cards for me, but I'm glad nonetheless. I learned to defend myself should the time call for action.

…Boss, I know this will work. It has before, and it can again… I wouldn't propose something unless I was certain it would get the job done."

 ** _You've the heart of an entertainer. I understand, and I accept that._**

 ** _But enough loitering. I've issued you a transport back to Ft. Arista._**

Major Lewis panics. "Ft. Arista!? But…"

 ** _Don't worry, child. My team has abrogated all enemy units._**

 ** _You'll be joining us on a little trip to the Barcelona Branch. I'm sensing something there… Another enemy, but it's not an aggressive one._**

"What do you propose we do about this person?"

 _ **After these recent events, both sides will be on hiatus until certain issues are resolved. There won't be any major activity for a month, which gives us time to get things started.**_

 _ **Also, I'll be requesting some assistance from the Rutherford Branch. We need a field unit to investigate an area of activity to ensure no harm has befallen its people.**_

Suddenly, their conversation is interrupted by the appearance of emissive particles circulating from the distance behind Major Lewis.

 ** _Looks like your transport is here._**

Upon her employer's word, she turns around to notice a curious sight: Another Methuselah draped in black like its siblings.

"Greetings, sister. I am **Eight**.

 **The Baron** has sent me to fetch you. Please, take my hand." Eight extends its right hand. This one is a woman like Four, but behaves more stoically than her sister.

Major Lewis nods, approaches Eight and takes her hand.

"Thank you, Sister Eight."

"Don't mention it. My apologies for what happened to your team."

"No need to apologize… It was an illusion, after all."

"Understood. We're off."

The wind gathers the emissive particles into a funnel, which quickly disappears…transporting them from the area.

Major Lewis has proposed a great idea, but…

—can Infinity reach the people…with the sound of music?


	27. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (B-2)

**_M_** ** _ullen_** ** _I_** ** _nstitute,_** ** _B_** ** _elfast_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _00:50—_** ** _D_** ** _awnavan's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

In the dream world, Dawnavan realizes the ferociousness of a Kresnik.

He has yet to escape the antithesis' dual assault: An entrapping vortex of blood, and a continuous blitz of varied strikes.

Dawnavan's unsure how he survived. Losing so much blood… Being clawed, battered and bruised… He should be dead.

"Guh, huh…ahh—!"

But he's still alive. Dawnavan's body is somehow enduring, despite being punished so violently… It's almost masochistic, surviving something this extreme.

 _I'm…still alive… It's been almost an hour, or at least I think so._

 _How is my body tolerating this?_

"Our blood is special." The antithesis ceases its assault, allowing Dawnavan a moment to rest.

Dawnavan opens his eyes and turns his head leftward, making eye contact with his "other" self.

"My blood…is special?"

The antithesis smiles.

"Our wings aren't just for show.

We should realize it: The healing factor of a Kresnik is a great one."

That word stands out to him… "Healing…factor…"

—a gift granted to all nightwalkers. However, there are extremes to a healing factor: Some are weak, some are moderate, and some are powerful, possessing regenerative properties akin to an immortal.

 _Healing factor? Sounds like something out of Stan Lee's book._

 _If I have something like that… Right. That explains why I'm still alive._

"Do we really have time to think!?" The antithesis shoots its right claw for Dawnavan's skull, only to receive a surprise from the latter: Dawnavan catches the antithesis' hand, turns his waist and…

"Sah—!" —hammers his left heel onto its skull!

"Guh, ah—!"

The "other" self is launched through the corners of its vortex of blood, which shatters as it crashes into the earth!

With a flap of his wings of blood, Dawnavan recovers and descends to the ground… A passing wind accentuates the scene, cooling yet intense.

"Stop saying 'we'. It sounds weird." Dawnavan lands, and approaches the clearing impact zone. "If you're me, you should know that I have a sense of individuality. Even if you come from me, don't couple us as if we're mates.

That's self-demeaning… Don't belittle yourself."

The antithesis recovers, but is unable to stand. Dawnavan pities his "other" self, who seems so sad in his eyes.

 _This creature was created using magic. It is me, but it's not me._

 _It knows a lot about me, but it's knowledge is limited. I…am going to put this thing out of its misery. Being created for such a cruel purpose: I don't agree with it._

Dawnavan halts a few steps away from the grounded antithesis. He then extends his right hand, leaking a drop of blood from his palm that proliferates…and forms into an ornate claymore encrusted with diamonds and rubies.

A weapon materialized from his contract.

"I don't know what I'm doing. But I can hear their voices, my ancestors.

You're right: My blood *is* special.

Kreniks can craft biological weapons of masterful weight, density and endurance. Tools of war with unique attributes.

This is my first release… **Sangui-forge: The Sword**!"

According to legend, the Kresniks of old had mysterious powers; abilities that set them apart from most nightwalkers: Their blood could work wonders, saving lives and destroying their enemies. Their hearts were virtuous… They were a kind race, and that's why they couldn't betray the humans that gave them a second chance.

"This is a sword with exorcism properties. Should I cut you, you'd be banished from my dreams in an instant.

But…I can't, so I won't. I thought I had it in me, but I can't kill someone as pathetic as you… Do me a favor and disappear for a while?"

He can't do it… Dawnavan should kill the antithesis, but his heart won't allow him to. Such violence just isn't in him.

He turns his back to the antithesis, but… "You will have to, very soon."

—this doesn't last long. Dawnavan faces his "other" self, stunned it would say something like that to him.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not speaking in riddles. As I said before, you will have to kill soon. You won't have a choice. If you don't…you will die."

No matter how much he wants to deny this, the antithesis is right: There will come a time when Dawnavan must take the life of another. In the tides of war, death is inescapable; it comes to all, unbiased and unavoidable.

 _I'm fated to grace the battlefield. So, deny it or not, I'll have to kill if I want to survive… This thing is absolutely right._

"I know that, but this isn't one of those times. In case you've forgotten…" Dawnavan suddenly holds the tip of his sword to the antithesis' throat, intimidating it to utter silence. The "other" self looks into Dawnavan's eyes, and sees something he keeps dormant: His killer instinct. "—I won't kill myself unless I have to.

Darkness and light, they're both necessary. Should I eradicate one, I'd kill a part of myself… Now is not the time for that. So, this battle is over."

Dawnavan turns and begins to leave the field of anemones, but…

"You…need me?" —his antithesis halts him in his tracks. The "other" self stands, dusts itself off and returns its eyes to Dawnavan's back. "You…won't discard me, even if I try to invade your spirit?"

"Honestly, how could I invade myself?

You're me, so I'd be intruding my own soul, which isn't possible. I am myself, and no one else… That's why I refuse to discard you: Because you're me."

"…You're a fool, you know that?" The antithesis smiles.

Dawnavan looks over his shoulder. "I know that, and…so are you."

Everything goes completely back, all except for Dawnavan and his antithesis, who revert back to their original selves in a flash of crimson light.

 _I need myself, both my light and my darkness. Without one, I am incomplete._

 _Thank you for teaching me this, whoever you are._

"Be safe, Dawnavan. If you need me, I'm always here."

The antithesis answers, their thoughts as one.

 _Of course. Just be sure to answer me if I do._

Darkness consumes what's left of the light, and the dream ends.

…

Moments later, Dawnavan's consciousness returns. He opens his eyes, and notices it's still dark outside.

Stuart's still asleep in his bed, but he's lightly tossing.

"…Another nightmare."

Dawnavan sits up in bed, and leaves it to check on his boyfriend.

 _This wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened._

 _Stuart has nightmares all the time… I should stay at his side._

Dawnavan checks the alarm clock perched on the nightstand between their beds… It's currently four minutes before 1:00 in the morning. This means they've only been asleep for a few hours.

 _This isn't right. Stuart normally has nightmares around 3:00, so that means…_

 _—_ _he's not having an ordinary "bad dream"._

He's absolutely correct: Stuart is undergoing the same trial; he must conquer himself. A great challenge indeed… Can he overcome the odds?

* * *

 ** _Mullen Institute, Belfast_**

 ** _10 May, 2011_**

 ** _00:56—Stuart's Perspective_**

 **:-:**

 _Falling…falling… Falling into darkness._

 _Never-ending, perpetual, it keeps going and going._

 _When will it end? Or…am I doomed to fall forever?_

An abyss of darkness: This is Stuart's heart; his "lonely" self.

The further he falls, the more his soul despairs.

"How long has it been?"

"How long" indeed. Time has flown gracefully since he began falling.

Stuart partially opens his eyes to see an inverted image of the darkened dreamscape. His heart swells with emotions… But these feelings, they're strange.

"Why…does it feel…like I've been here before?

Even more, this place… I'm always coming here in my dreams. Every night, I…

—I'm always here. This place is…"

In his heart, a curious warmth is conceived. A sensation so gentle, so comforting… Stuart closes his eyes, allowing his spirit to drift into a peaceful state.

"—this place…is…" The warmth in his heart intensifies just a little, and spreads throughout his body.

In these moments, an image comes to mind: A beautiful village bathed in sunlight, surrounded by a glorious countryside rich with flora and fauna. The borders of the village are crowned by a dome of crystal that nullifies the sun's ultraviolet rays… A place where humans and nightwalkers coexist, thriving together as a community.

 _Humans, nightwalkers; mortals and the undying… Together, as one?_

Stuart tucks his knees in and inverts his position, switching from upside down to upright. He then forces himself to turn around by spinning his body leftward.

He's still falling, but his body has yet to touch the earth. The way things are looking, there isn't an earth to touch. But this image in his head…

—it's so beautiful. The harmony he sees…is uplifting.

"So peaceful… I wonder, where is this place?

Better yet, how is something like this even possible?

 ** _This is the aspiration of your great-uncle, Count Orlok._** Stuart hears the voice that spoke to him during the flight to the UK.

"…That… It's you, my contract."

 ** _Yes, Stuart, you are correct._**

The sun shines brilliantly, releasing sunrays that operate as a pathway…for a maiden of indescribable beauty and elegance, swaddled in lustrous, ornate robes. Stuart has never seen such an entrancing woman; a being like the sun itself.

"Who… Who are you?"

The beauty places her hand on his shoulder and smiles. **_Amaterasu-omikami._**

 ** _Orlok was fascinated with the Shinto religion, and admired me so much that he sought my help. We became more than contracted partners; we became very close friends._**

The Shinto goddess turns and observes the village below them.

 ** _Our contract was to ensure this would happen: Shangri-La. He became the Nightlord to ensure the resolution of my argument with my brother, Tsukuyomi._**

 ** _Orlok pitied us, believing family should be "closely knit;" together as one. I pitied this world because it was falling apart… It was a match made in heaven._**

Amaterasu giggles, realizing she made a pun of her origins.

Stuart receives it well. "Good one, miss. Never knew gods had a sense of humor."

 ** _It helps…when you're in mourning._**

 _My family is predominantly Christian, but…_

 _—a relationship that predates the Bakumatsu Era? Amaterasu is a Shinto goddess revered since the 8th century. This connection… Incredible!_

 _It… For some reason, it feels like we're old friends._

 ** _I am your protector. But if you wish to befriend me, you're more than welcome to._**

The goddess proves her omniscience, shocking Stuart.

"—!?

Well, I… Yes, I would like that."

 ** _Fufufu! Orlok was easily flustered as well._**

 ** _You remind me of him quite a bit._**

"…I…do?"

 ** _Yes, and that's how I know *you're* the one._**

 ** _You, Stuart, are the scion of love: The creator of the "world utopia"._**

"Shangri-La," the proof of hatred's end; a land fit for all walks of life. But it seems so illogical, something like a delusion; a cruel hallucination.

 _It would be nice…if humans and nightwalkers could coexist. But something like this…_

 ** _Nightwalkers were once human; thus, they are one in the same._** Amaterasu quiets Stuart once again, earning his fascination.

"Humans and nightwalkers are the same? How so, sun goddess?

 ** _Born from humans, corrupted by evil; lineage passed down from generation to generation._**

 ** _Nightwalkers are the proof of human resilience: They defied death and rose again, but their resurrection cost them dearly._**

"What did it cost them?"

 ** _Their humanity, every spec of it._**

 ** _Some reclaimed it with time; those known as the "Ascended". But they are outnumbered by those still consumed by darkness… The "Descended"._**

 ** _Nightwalkers are an unstable breed. Individuality separates them, but they are connected by the same thing that makes humans a peculiar species: Desire._**

 ** _The pursuit for desire leads to madness, which further conceives what humans call "sin" or "transgression"... Shangri-La is a world free from corrupt social norms; the ways of Count Valdo and his morally degenerate followers._**

 _I see… I finally understand now: This is a world absent of madness. A place where the Ascended can reclaim their humanity, and live with the humans they care about. And vice versa… Humans no longer have to live in fear of nightwalkers._

 _One people. One common goal. Liberty and justice for all._

 _Shangri-La… Its realization is the purpose of my existence._

Amaterasu smiles, pleased to hear Stuart's thoughts.

"In order to realize Shangri-La, I must first conquer myself.

But a place like this…has to be…"

 ** _The Nightlord unites daylight and moonlight, harmonizing all things._**

"So there's no prejudice? No fear?"

 ** _Only against the Descended outside the dome._**

"I see… So, the Descended still exist?"

 ** _Yes, but their leaders have been felled. The Descended live as a democracy separate from the Ascended's monarchy._**

 ** _A peace treaty was signed to ensure amity between the settlements. Trade, commerce, industry; everything is done to secure longevity for all._**

 ** _Shangri-La is truly a haven for nightwalkers and humans._**

 _That is quite the responsibility, especially for an insecure bloke like me._

 _Can I really accomplish something like this?_

 ** _Believe in yourself, and the allies you've been blessed with._**

Stuart looks to the sun goddess, who faces him in confidence.

"I do. I do…believe…"

 ** _Then let your light shine, Stuart. Keep your eyes set on a brighter day._**

 ** _We are one. Always remember that._**

With that said, Stuart opens his eyes simultaneously with the manifestation of solar rays upon his back. These rays amass into the likeness of a bat's wings, and lift him high into the air with each flap. Higher… Higher… Faster... Faster…

 _We will create that world…me, my allies and my loved ones… So that everyone can live peacefully. No more fighting. No more pain. No more sorrow._

 _The only tears shed will be those of joy. Tears for the dearly departed…not because of homicide or genocide. Tears shed amid an emotional farewell. Tears shed because everyday…every single day of our lives…we have something to be grateful for._

 _Shangri-La… It will be ours._

 _Everyone, the pursuit begins anew. Starting now!_


	28. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (B-3)

**_M_** ** _ullen_** ** _I_** ** _nstitute,_** ** _Dublin_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _01:01—_** ** _N_** ** _'_** ** _D_** ** _our's_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

Something has the apprentice N'Dour out and about.

He can't sleep. Perhaps there's something in the air this morning.

"The doctor said I should get some rest, but…

—geez… What's wrong with me?"

Since he can't sleep, N'Dour feels the need to grab something to drink. Thus, it's onward to the kitchen he goes.

It'll take a bit of a walk, but he knows the institution, so it's an easy trip.

As he passes by Stuart and Dawnavan's room, he hears humming… A melodic sound that halts him in his tracks.

~… … …~

Beautiful…so inspiring…

"Is that… They're up at this hour?"

Curious by nature, the apprentice plants his ear against their door.

 _I know it's rude to eavesdrop, but…I can't help myself._

 _Whoever's humming this tune…_

~… … …~

This song gives him visions of a peaceful world. A place where the seeds of hatred are a distant memory.

He says nothing. N'Dour can only close his eyes and drift away into his thoughts.

~… … …~

If he could, N'Dour would accompany this song with a special skill of his: The piano.

He was classically trained by a friend of his family. Thus, he is proficient; N'Dour can play by ear and by sheet.

This would be a great way to strengthen their acquaintanceship.

 _It's Dawny… I can tell by the quality of his voice; a handsome medium tone._

 _When I can, I'll ask him… No, what am I saying? That would be rude._

He can't help it. Aside from his desire for peace, N'Dour has a passion for music.

~… … …~

Should he leave, he would probably miss out on something. Capturing the beauty of this song is top priority at the moment.

"You can come in, nosy."

"—!?" N'Dour is frozen where he stands.

Dawnavan knows he's standing behind the door.

"It's alright. Come in, the door is unlocked."

 _Well, this is awkward. But since he's inviting me in…_

N'Dour opens the door slowly, since it's still rather early in the morning.

"Be quiet though, Stuart's asleep."

Dawnavan says with hushed tone, and N'Dour obliges… Once the door is opened well enough, he takes the same ginger approach in closing it.

"Can't sleep?"

N'Dour turns to his acquaintance, a little nervous about showing up so early in the morning. He scratches his head…making Dawnavan titter.

"I *was* sleep for a little while, but then I woke up.

I was on my way to the kitchen _…_ before I heard you humming." N'Dour's response is honest and straightforward.

Dawnavan closes his eyes, smiles and turns his attention to the sleeping Stuart. N'Dour approaches with light feet, slowly and charmingly.

"I love him…"

He is halted in his tracks by Dawnavan's sudden statement.

"Him? You mean Mr. Bennett?"

"Yes, with all my heart.

I normally sing that song to him when he's feeling down. But since I have a loud voice, I hum at night to refrain from disturbing anyone."

"…Would you…marry this man?"

N'Dour's question earns Dawnavan's attention in an instant. He says nothing in response… But his actions… Dawnavan's unsure how to answer something like that.

"I'm sorry… That was rude of me."

Dawnavan shakes his head, pardoning N'Dour's inquisitiveness.

"No, it's alright. It was meant to be asked.

I…should really start thinking of an answer…because…"

He says nothing more.

Perhaps the thought of marriage is hard on him at the moment.

 _Something is stifling his response… I wonder what it is._

 _No, I won't ask him. I've intruded enough._

"—I can't say 'no' to this man."

Dawnavan finally speaks up for himself, surprising N'Dour.

"You…'can't say no' to him? Why?"

"…We've heard enough of that word in the past. So, if I refuse something or think differently, I turn my back to him.

I never say 'no' to this man…because… It's complicated, but it's for a good reason."

Stuart turns in bed and lays his head next to Dawnavan's leg… Dawnavan runs his fingers through Stuart's silky, curly locks, lightly petting him.

N'Dour blushes, confessing innocence without saying anything at all.

Dawnavan notices his mannerisms.

"Fufu… Have you ever been in love before?"

"No, I haven't… I was a shut-in for most of my life. My family lived in constant fear of the church, so I never had the chance to make friends.

But I wanted to… Making friends. Finding someone special."

N'Dour lowers his head, feeling as if he just shrunk a hundredfold in size.

"Sounds like you're in-between steps 2 and 3." Dawnavan lifts N'Dour's head, having surprised him a bit.

"In-between steps?"

"Yes. You're no longer a shut-in, and you're making friends. I'm more than sure you'll find that special someone very soon. You're a nice guy, N'Dour.

I know, I know… The saying goes, 'Nice guys always finish last,' which is a good thing: The faster you finish, the quicker you get your heart broken. It's best to take your time when a life-partner is concerned.

It took years of sorrow and heartache before I met this mannish Brit. And now that I think about it, some of my better days were spent in his company.

I'm not wishing pain or hardship on you. But as far as happiness goes, I wish you this, security, contentment, and longevity."

 _He's so kind… If he's happy with Mr. Bennett, then he must be a kind man as well._

N'Dour approaches the couple and kneels at their bedside… He immediately notices Stuart's facial expressions: They seem resolute, resilient and decided. Stuart's also smiling, which means he's reached a positive stage in his dreams.

"Whatever he's dreaming about, it must be nice."

Dawnavan nods agreeably.

"Has he ever slept this peacefully before?"

"No, this is the first time."

"Do you…think it's a personal effect?"

"Perhaps, but I wouldn't say that's where it ends.

Stuart has found something to 'dream' about… When we were younger, I oft-told him to seek something positive: A person, a place, or a thing.

Tonight is the night. He's found his 'something,' and I'm glad."

 _It sure seems that way… And I'm glad for him, as well._

 _Congratulations, Mr. Bennett._

Dawnavan hums his song once again, as he caresses his lover's head.

~… … …~

Stuart's smile widens a little, making N'Dour giggle with admiration.

"Aww, he likes it."

Dawnavan nods, and continues humming.

~… … …~

N'Dour is a bit jealous of what he sees, but in an inspired way.

 _I'll find someone special, too, just like Dawny and Mr. Bennett._

 _It's nice to have friends that believe in you._

 _But about Mr. Bennett… I wonder what he's dreaming about._


	29. Act 9: Can't Stop My Heart (B-4)

**_?_**

 ** _10_** ** _M_** ** _ay, 2011_**

 ** _01:30—_** ** _?_** ** _'_** ** _s_** ** _P_** ** _erspective_**

 **:-:**

His holiness, **The Pope**.

He lives in obscurity, surrounded by aquatic furniture: Fountains, a hot spring, a swimming pool, a davenport and other coral-themed items.

Not many have seen his face. Should one get the chance, it would be short-lived.

 _The second coming is nigh… This world must be cleansed._

 _God would be displeased, should he lays eyes on this filthy planet called Earth._

Seated on the edges of a large indoor aquarium, his holiness pampers his prized pets with the gentlest touch.

A domesticated seal lays its head on his leg, and receives a petting.

"A world fit for all, especially darlings like you, my friend."

The seal bats its big, beady eyes and smiles.

"Arf, arf!"

"What's that?"

"Arf, arf, arf!"

"Oh, it's that time, again?

You're a big eater, but alright. Wait right here."

 **Zoopathy** is one of his holiness' many talents. Should he will it so, he could speak with and understand any animal he touches.

Unfortunately, he limits this ability to marine life only.

"Arf, arf!"

His seal companion flaps its fin with joy, its eyes fixated on his holiness' every move.

"I understand, don't rush me.

Goodness… Not even humans are this demanding."

 _I am the theocrat of this world. All worship me, and yet…_

 _—_ _it matters not._

 _God is almighty; thus, a fool like the Nightlord is limited in my eyes._

To have authority means to live in fear, and to be feared. The more power one has, the more protection they need; a stabilizing exchange. Most would observe this from a superficial perspective: Their response would be based on exposure and socialization.

No lowly creature could ever understand the pain of a world leader. Should they be exposed to such a lifestyle, they would fail and ruin the world.

One cannot become a leader by popular vote; it must be in their blood.

" **Maia** , fetch your brother and sisters."

"Arf, arf!"

"What? Maia, honestly… Don't be a glutton."

"Arf, arf…!"

"Excuse me? No, now go fetch your siblings."

"Arf…!"

"Maia, on the double!"

Firmness is needed. Strength, permanence, stability, resolution: This is what makes a leader, and not many possess these qualities… But one must also possess kindness; a love for one's people that goes above and beyond the call of duty.

* * *

 ** _Ending Theme: Love Is A Battlefield_**

 ** _Artist: Pat Benatar_**

* * *

 _Humans are beautiful. Animals are beautiful. All life is precious in my eyes._

 _Nightwalkers… We are an abominated race, but God smiles upon us. He wishes_ _to cleanse our_ _hearts, so that we may inherit a place in His kingdom._

 _But we're in a time of great uncertainty._

 _People will die. Homes and relationships will be destroyed… This world will be drowned in the tears of the weak, the fearful, and the defeated._

 _In order to see peace, the heretics must be eradicated._

His holiness' heart swells with regretful emotions.

He is a pacifist by nature; violence is not in his blood. If he could, his holiness would seek peace with Infinity, but a ceasefire is impossible.

Too much has happened in the past: Tragedies best left obliviated for all time.

"To lose everything and gain naught: This is the suffering of a man such as I.

Despite this, I persevere.

As the theocrat of this world, though my heart breaks, it must remain unseen. I seclude myself in darkness, surrounded by my children…so none may ever see my pain."

His holiness tends to his pets, a smile spread upon his obscured face.

"Maia, **Addy** , **Mona** , **Bren** , be good and share. Alright?"

Maia, his pet seal, is spoiled. She's very much like a child, and is the youngest.

Addy, his pet dolphin, is a diplomat. Skillful and tactful, she keeps her siblings in line.

Mona and Bren, his pet stingrays, are twins. They're reclusive, normally staying in their burrows at the bottom of the aquarium, but very nice.

His holiness feeds them their meal with a gentle hand.

"I'll need your help soon, my children… Cora has left for the old village, **Copacabana**. I normally trust her with such things, but the heretics will be there.

I know you hate training, but… Make me proud, okay?"

His holiness' little family delights, wanting nothing more than to make him happy.

"Thank you, my children. Thank you very much."

* * *

 ** _La Barceloneta, Barcelona_**

 ** _10 May, 2011_**

 ** _02:27—?'s Perspective_**

Most people take Copacabana as the main beach in Rio de Janeiro, but the name has its origins: A forgotten settlement on the outskirts of **La Barceloneta**. Hidden from the public eye via the power of existence, protected by an undying will.

Before the 18th century, Copacabana was what La Barceloneta is today: A beautiful neighborhood, full of life and prosperity… Unfortunately, its citizens were the most powerful church supporters in the world. A stigma of hatred was prominent in these parts; rebels and their supporters were not welcome. Their loyalty was strong.

That was…until the Nightlord issued their destruction.

 _Gideonites that became a threat… What a shame._

 _Mother Wendy, I hope you know what you're doing._

Two Infinity agents have been employed for a very special mission: The liberation and restoration of Copacabana, despite their bad blood.

"( **Prophet** , what's wrong?)"

"(…Nothing, don't worry about it.)"

Visiting La Barceloneta is a very challenging task for anyone of Spanish heritage. No one lives there, they commute. Those unfortunate enough to settle there quickly learn how horrible a place it really is… So many secrets, countless things best kept in darkness.

"( **Deacon** …)"

"(Yes?)"

"(—why were we chosen for this mission?

Sure, we're Hispanic, but…this place…)"

A question coupled with uncertainty.

"(Mother Wendy reserved us a room at **The Mercer**.We'll rest up for the night, and begin searching in the morning.

Try to clear your head before then, Prophet.)"

Deacon is taking this well, but…it's impossible for me.

He hasn't changed: Stoic, all work and no play… (A hungry wolf).

"(Right. Nice looking out, kid.)"

A storm will arrive soon.

In one month, activity will recommence. In the meantime, some issues must be resolved.

The employed Infinity agents, Prophet and Deacon, have arrived. One can only imagine what wonders will befall Barcelona, once their investigation begins.

 _No use trying to argue. Orders are orders._

 _Man… This is going to be a tough one. I just know it._

* * *

 _ **~ To Be Continued ~**_

* * *

 **When the moon rises,**

 _The trial is over; Dawnavan and I commence our training. But there's a serpent among us._

 _An investigation is underway: An obliviated community needs liberation; to be freed from oppression. Infinity is on the job._

 _Hearts are united in a time of peace. However, all that's "peaceful"…isn't secure._

 _Deception is deadly in the right hands._

 **Next time on The BLOOD Saga: NIGHT:**

 **:O:**

 **:O: Bad Faith :O:**

 **:O:**

 _The conquest for unity continues._


	30. Closing Statements With: N'Dour

**:O:**

 **:O: Closing Statements With… :O:**

 **:O:**

—Err… Hello? Is this thing on?

Oh, it is. Good!

Greetings everyone, my name is Youssou N'Dour. Yes, I'm an OC named after the actual artist/politician, but on to the reason why I'm here:

I've been selected to close this volume out.

We planned to span this volume out for a few more acts, but all the conflicts have been resolved. So, why bore everyone with "filler overload"?

We hope you enjoyed the second volume. It's been completed ahead of time, and that's a good thing. This gives us room to move on to the next volume: **L ove & Passion**. This volume will encompass the Copacabana incident, a troublesome event at the Mullen Institute, and an adorable subplot involving yours truly.

We'll also be catching up with everyone else. It wouldn't be right to leave them out of this… Oh? Why "Love & Passion," you ask?

Isn't it kind of obvious? Hello! "Copacabana"!?

Aside from the name itself, relationships will be further explored in this volume. So, expect a little more development in the "romance" department.

A special "thank you" goes out to all supporters, contributors, inspirers, and mentors. It's been fun so far. We're looking forward to composing more TBS goodness in the days to come. Please, continue treating us well.

Also, it's been a sad month. We recently lost three great people: Doris Roberts, Joanie "Chyna" Laurer, and Prince Rogers Nelson. Our hearts go out to the families, friends and associates of these three legendary souls; may their memory live on forever… The next volume will be dedicated to all those we lost in the past year.

Everyone, if you have someone dear to you, never let them go. If you're distant, make a change and be a friend. Tomorrow is never promised; let's embrace each other wholeheartedly, and make this world a better place.

May the spirits of those we've lost teach us how precious life is… We should cherish what little time we have, and never take it for granted.

In life, we live and die many times, being reborn [spiritually] to engage a different path before our story concludes. The "true death" comes when we run out of chances, so ask yourself: Before this happens, how will *you* live your life?

Don't answer that. Some, if not most, of you… Never mind.

Morals are understood by the righteous. Everyone else…no, not so much.

But enough small talk. It's time to end this segment.

Thank you for listening to my Closing Statements. I look forward to visiting with you again in the future. Also, remember: Applications for OCs are still open, so, if you have any submissions, please visit our page and check out the announcements.

Blessings to you all. Until we meet again, may God be with you.

* * *

 **:O:**

 **:O: See You Next Time :O:**

 **:O:**


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